tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223Sun, 06 Aug 2017 11:25:58 +0000MiamiSexHispanicsDatinggirlsBloggingGainesvilleLAUFWritingex-girlfriendsBar EtiquetteBaseballJenn StergercheatingrelationshipsChoGirls Who Are Out of your LeagueSabado GiganteTVThe Independent AlligatorVirgnia Techalcoholfat girlswhitedade.comAbortionAir TravelAlachua CountyAnaheim AngelsAnal SexAnonymous CommentersArte MorenoBallard HIgh SchoolBob SegerBreakupCaliforniaChildrenChlamydiaChonga BagelChongasCollectionsColt BrennanCommunistsCredit Card DebtDetroitDon FranciscoDumpingFallatioFootballGreg BehrendtGuns N RosesHigh SchoolHookersInterracial DatingIrishJenn Sterger. HootersKinseyLawsuitLeo StergerLesbainLittle HavanaMarisa MillerMayonnaiseMetal BandsMiami Internaitonal AirportMiddle SchoolMiss AmericaMiss MiamiMusicOld ManOrange CountyOverratedPageantsPartiesPearlPinecrestPriveRacismSandy KoufaxSarah SpainSeattleSisterSlumsSoftballSpanishSportsSpring BreakSt. Patricks DayStacey The Budweiser GirlStarbucksStrippersSuper Bowl TicketsSupermanTim TebowValentines Daybelt contendersblondesdouchebag guysexcusesgaysjohn cusackkarmarelocationslangWhite DadeThe City may have changed, but trust me, everything else is the same.http://whitedade.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (White Dade)Blogger299125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-2185315959380362689Fri, 26 Sep 2008 20:46:00 +00002008-09-26T15:55:36.751-05:00gaysWhy the Gays Rock<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link 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mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">I would just like to start out here by saying that I am not, nor will I ever be, gay. Not at all. I mean, people can make all the cracks they want about tanning and pageant judging and showtunes, but at the end of the day the only thing that makes you gay is hooking up with other dudes. And that is something I have about as much interest in as moving to Bangladesh. Actually, if given a choice I would probably be on the next plane to Dhaka with a mud hut-building kit. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">That all being said, I love the gays. That’s right, of all the minority groups in this country, the gays are by FAR the coolest. Seriously, does anyone ever move OUT of a neighborhood when gays move in? Do people avoid gay areas because they fear for their lives? Have you ever been in a place (not a gay club) and wanted to leave because of all the obnoxious gays in there? No, of course you haven’t. You know why? Because the gays, they fucking rock. They have the life. And here’s why…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">The Gays make the BEST wingmen</b> – I was in a club this summer and ended up sitting at a table with a bunch of gays. Next to us was a table of gorgeous South Beach models, or, at least, a table full of blondes all over 5’10” and under 120 pounds. Now, I would NEVER in a million years dream of approaching a table of chicks like that. But one of the gays got up, chatted them up for a few minutes, then invited me over and introduced me to them. An instant in with an unapproachable table. Much as I love my straight friends, even the girls have never done anything like this for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">The Gays NEVER Cockblock – </b>Ok, maybe if the guy is ugly they will, but typically when a gay is out with his fag hag, his goal is to get her laid. I mean, he knows he’s getting some, so why shouldn’t his girl? So unlike unbearable sorority chicks who make absolute certain their girlfriends NEVER go home with anyone but them, a gay INSISTS his girl goes home with someone. <span style=""> </span>God bless the Gays.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">The Gays only deal with attractive people<span style=""> </span>-</b>Gays have a great aesthetic sense, as anyone who has ever visited a gay household can attest. But it also extends to the company they keep. I haven’t met too many ugly fag hags, and a gay man is not going to associate with straight guys who aren’t attractive either. I mean, why bother wearing a $2000 outfit when your accessories are hideous? So if you're hanging out with the gays, typically, it’s going to be a good looking group.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">The Gays have money – </b>Seriously, you ever meet a gay on welfare? Shit, you ever meet a gay who had problems making rent? Of course you don’t! The gays, for whatever reason, always seem to be educated and have large amounts of expendable income. I’m not sure why this is, but when you’re shelling out $1200 for bathroom curtains, you’re probably doing ok. And the gays are, hands down, the BEST tippers on Earth. Never less than 25%.
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">The Gays party like rock stars – </b>No self-respecting gay goes out and gets home any earlier than 5. And typically never comes home alone either. Not only do the gays get the BEST drugs (you ever do gay coke? You’ll never look at that shit you buy from Cracky in the West Grove the same way again), but they hook up with multiple people on a weekly basis, party on weeknights, and hang out with beautiful women. That sounds more like Kid Rock than Harvey Firestein to me. Except for the whole hooking up with guys thing, that sounds pretty awesome to me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">They Gays never have to get married of have kids</b> – Why the Hell are the gays so caught up in being able to get legally married? It’s like the greatest out ever. Mom and Dad bugging you to settle down at 34? Sorry, State says I can’t. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a coke-infused orgy to attend.<span style=""> </span>People encouraging you to have kids? Yep, can’t really do that one either. Guess I’ll have to use all that money that my straight friends spend on their kids on a new pair of Prada loafers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">The Gays dress, groom and design better than most women – </b>Why do you think so many male models are gays?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, Gays, in short, you guys rock. And, contrary to popular belief, they typically know when you’re straight and stay away, so they make awesome friends/people to go out with and get hammered. What this country needs are more citizens like the gays, curbing overpopulation, making money, and dressing well. Have a great weekend everybody, and go party like rock stars. Or gays.</p> http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-gays-rock.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-8763829149049553260Wed, 17 Sep 2008 05:02:00 +00002010-08-24T16:57:13.711-05:00FallatioGainesvilleSupermanTim TebowUFHe's Just a Football Player Folks. Get Over It<img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246853790921769058" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRuUxNwGI/AAAAAAAAA1o/yppSRnFN5SY/s400/15+Superman.jpg" />There’s a lot of differences between going to a private school in a big city and a big, state school in the middle of a God-forsaken swamp. Like, instead of having some greasy, over-dr<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRnRMvhUI/AAAAAAAAA1g/hrUHh9leKhA/s1600-h/Club+doorman.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; FLOAT: right; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246853669704402242" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRnRMvhUI/AAAAAAAAA1g/hrUHh9leKhA/s400/Club+doorman.jpg" /></a>essed doorman from Buenos Aires look you up and down outside an expensive nightclub and tell you you can’t get in because you have too many guys, you can have a poorly-dressed frat guy from Palatka do the same thing at a party.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Yes, UM and U<img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246853524663482530" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRe04SuKI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/dlXotqqdNug/s400/Tebow+Adam.jpg" />F certainly have their differences. But perhaps the one I find most disgusting is the verbal fallating and elevation to God status of any athlete who garners a mention on SportsCenter. </div><div><br /><br /></div><div>At UM, we treated our atheltes like athletes. You are judged on your performance, and even then you're really nobody special. Play well, and you might get a "nice ga<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRXe2KGHI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/w1vUy8FB1vc/s1600-h/Ken+Dorsey.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; FLOAT: right; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246853398489864306" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRXe2KGHI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/w1vUy8FB1vc/s400/Ken+Dorsey.jpg" /></a>me" from the throngs of students who either didn't know what football was, or could probably buy the team within 5 years of graduation. Then, you're special. Make one mistake, and the boos from the crowds at the Orange Bowl were deafening. People called talk radio just to talk about your weaknesses and students, well, students immediately turned their attention to club opening times as soon as the game was over. Even Ken Dorsey was criticized until the day he left and was publicly called "Rusty Dick" by his teammates on the campus shuttle.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRN_BbCbI/AAAAAAAAA1I/7yDvickoXIg/s1600-h/Tebow+with+capa.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246853235328354738" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRN_BbCbI/AAAAAAAAA1I/7yDvickoXIg/s400/Tebow+with+capa.jpg" /></a> At UF? The athlete worship is fucking nauseating. If you're on a team that palys on TV you are a GOD, and as such can do no wrong, anytime, anywhere, in the eyes of the student body. Say any different and you will be challenged to a fight and called a homosexual by the every Kool-Aid drinking Gator fan in jorts within 500 yards.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>And nowhere, I mean NOWHERE, is this more nauseating than with one Mr. Tim Tebow. And no, my irritation stems from a lot more than him beating my boy Colt “Those Charges were Thrown Out” Brennan for the Heis<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRFnHU3kI/AAAAAAAAA1A/y410_rZVMDI/s1600-h/Dan+Kendra.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; FLOAT: right; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246853091471711810" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCRFnHU3kI/AAAAAAAAA1A/y410_rZVMDI/s400/Dan+Kendra.jpg" /></a>man. Tebow is a pretty damn good college quarterback. And is going to make a damn fine CFL fullback some day. But he is not, as some in Gainesville seem to believe, the second coming of Christ. He’s more like the second coming of Dan Kendra. </div><div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCQ_DDSQDI/AAAAAAAAA04/6y7WqIfSX4I/s1600-h/DOuchbag+in+Shirt.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246852978711871538" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCQ_DDSQDI/AAAAAAAAA04/6y7WqIfSX4I/s400/DOuchbag+in+Shirt.jpg" /></a> </div><div></div><div>But in Gainesville, I think more or less every undergraduate, male or female, would suck this guy’s dick if he asked them to. Apparently in addition to being able to throw AND run (and good God, there has NEVER been a quarterback who could do THAT before. At least not one who won a Super Bowl, anyway) he can feed the hungry, clothe the needy, turn water into wine, win the war in Iraq, solve the financial crisis and still have time to go to church on Sunday with his Mom and Dad.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCQ5BK3kuI/AAAAAAAAA0w/RX7TtbSaRIE/s1600-h/Tebow+Acceptance.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; FLOAT: right; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246852875127591650" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCQ5BK3kuI/AAAAAAAAA0w/RX7TtbSaRIE/s400/Tebow+Acceptance.jpg" /></a>He’s a fucking 21-year-old kid, people, not the Dali Lama. He plays football and without football he’s that creepy Jesus kid in the back who can’t interact with the rest of the class because he was home schooled his whole life. Why do you think his Heisman acceptance was the worst display of public speaking since Dan Quayle left office? I believe he said Jesus more than Allan Iverson said “Practice.”<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCQxKgSpnI/AAAAAAAAA0o/lKC5uv00EU0/s1600-h/Circumcision.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246852740194412146" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCQxKgSpnI/AAAAAAAAA0o/lKC5uv00EU0/s400/Circumcision.jpg" /></a> I got an email from my gym today telling me to “unleash my inner Tebow.” Really, Gainesville Health and Fitness? I wasn’t aware you were replacing my 6:30 kickboxing class with “Circumcising Filipino Children,” but thanks for the heads up.<br /><br /><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246854122500580242" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SNCSBn_w45I/AAAAAAAAA1w/dPe6gURl1Tg/s400/Superman.jpg" />So yeah, Tebow is a good football player, but can everyone around here just get off his nuts? Because until Tim Tebow cures cancer or saves 100 people from a burning building, the guy is no better than you, me, or anyone else in the God forsaken swamp.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2008/09/hes-just-football-player-folks-get-over.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-1970255043950523590Mon, 15 Sep 2008 02:32:00 +00002008-09-14T22:43:19.782-05:00GainesvilleOld ManThe Oldest Man in Gainesville<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3KN_L0wII/AAAAAAAAA0Y/BBK5J31FxaM/s1600-h/Bitter+old+man.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246071482604634242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3KN_L0wII/AAAAAAAAA0Y/BBK5J31FxaM/s400/Bitter+old+man.jpg" border="0" /></a>So yeah, I’m back. Y’all knew a raging attention whore like me could only stay away for so long. But we all know if there is one thing that is true in life it’s that the sequel is never as good as the original. Shit, if everybody who ever did anything that was really good quit while they were ahead, we’d only have about six movies a year coming out and the Rolling Stones would have stopped making albums 30 years ago. What I’m saying here is that a lot has changed since I last spoke with you all. A lot.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3KIFmTDxI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/hmFct7aT-q8/s1600-h/Reagan.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246071381247069970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3KIFmTDxI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/hmFct7aT-q8/s400/Reagan.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I’m older. I’m angrier. I’m more bitter and a lot more nasty. You know why? Because I’m fucking old, that’s why. Because I’m old enough to remember Ronald Reagan and the Cold War. I remember what life was like before computers and cell phones and the Internet<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3KDhCF1DI/AAAAAAAAA0I/URDcUz6_VMc/s1600-h/gumpy+cartoon.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246071302712054834" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3KDhCF1DI/AAAAAAAAA0I/URDcUz6_VMc/s400/gumpy+cartoon.jpg" border="0" /></a>. And somehow, we survived.<br /><br />You know that miserable old bastard who sits down at the barber shop or the local bar or maybe, if you’re really lucky, mainlines Old Crow on the street corner in front of your apartment? Well, after a year in Gainesville I understand that guy a lot better that I used to. The kids here? They don’t know what it was like to only have 87 channels.<br /><br />My role as a person over the age of 22 is to ramble on about the good old days when we read newspapers and bought CDs.<br /><br />About a time when “text” was something you read, not something you did.<br /><br />A time when people actually picked up their phones<br /><br />A time when guys were considered pussies if they asked a girl out over anything other than the phone or in person. Or a time when guys even asked girls out.<br /><br />A time when when not anybody with a camera could become a celebrity, and a time when people had <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3J7MrJxxI/AAAAAAAAA0A/Lzve7DGUJhE/s1600-h/wii+tennis.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246071159808182034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3J7MrJxxI/AAAAAAAAA0A/Lzve7DGUJhE/s400/wii+tennis.jpg" border="0" /></a>to have talent to be on TV<br /><br />A time when people did actual exercise instead of waiting in line for hours to play virtual tennis.<br /><br />A time when kids played outside and parents had to drag them in, instead of playing inside and their parents having to twist their arms to go out.<br /><br />A time when if you wanted to avoid work, you just left. <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3Jmb6NGqI/AAAAAAAAAz4/dw-Xm8GuHIg/s1600-h/Texting+at+dinner.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246070803120593570" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3Jmb6NGqI/AAAAAAAAAz4/dw-Xm8GuHIg/s400/Texting+at+dinner.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A time when if you went to dinner with someone, that was the only person you were at dinner with. Not every friend, relative, acquaintance, boss and bill collector who decides to call, text, or email while you’re eating.<br /><br />A time when you could ignore people you wanted to ignore.<br /><br />A time when you went on vacation and were truly inaccessible<br /><br />A time when “second life” was only something the Hindu’s talked about.<br /><br /><br />You see, now I know why the grumpy old man is so angry. What I was talking about back there? That shit is from like 1997, people. The Clinton years. Not that long ago, and many of you out there reading can remember most of that shit as well.<br /><br />But in Gain<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3Jf7GkvQI/AAAAAAAAAzw/z27lzwYWM7M/s1600-h/crossed+arms.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246070691234888962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SM3Jf7GkvQI/AAAAAAAAAzw/z27lzwYWM7M/s400/crossed+arms.jpg" border="0" /></a>esville, if you didn’t grow up with email and cell phones, you may as well be an Alzheimer’s patient who eats his own teeth. I know that in America youth is King, but in Gainesville, youth is more of a fascist dictator. If you’re old enough to rent a car, you’re a detriment to society. So while you may mock that miserable old bastard on the corner for ranting on about how much better it was when they danced the Charleston and women wore long skirts, don’t laugh at him too hard. Move to a college town folks, and you’ll realize you have a lot more in common with him than you ever wanted to.http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2008/09/oldest-man-in-gainsville.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-4848187903682637601Mon, 08 Sep 2008 05:19:00 +00002008-09-08T01:02:30.327-05:00GainesvilleSexThe Independent AlligatorUFThe Sultry South This is Not<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS6FA061QI/AAAAAAAAAmk/AuDnoQ15GW0/s1600-h/Body+Heat.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243520461450171650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS6FA061QI/AAAAAAAAAmk/AuDnoQ15GW0/s400/Body+Heat.jpg" border="0" /></a> There’s a lot of misconceptions out there about Gainesville. Whatever that depressed, overweight, thirtysomething friend of yours told you about the best four years of his life spent going to football games and getting drunk on Mondays in North Central Florida, well, that’s just revisionist history. Not that Gainesville is that bad, but, much like its iconic quarterback, it ain't all it's cracked up to be either.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS2-aeaLkI/AAAAAAAAAlc/SYf0v4P6-CE/s1600-h/alligator.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243517049541111362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS2-aeaLkI/AAAAAAAAAlc/SYf0v4P6-CE/s400/alligator.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And I was having a real hard time deciding which over exaggerated myth to first dispel for everyone until the Alligator once again threw rant fodder right in my lap with <a href="http://alligator.org/articles/2008/08/28/the_avenue/sex/080827_swamp.txt">this lovely article</a>. For those who don’t know, the Alligator is our not-official-school newspaper, which wrote a <a href="http://www.alligator.org/articles/2007/09/11/news/campus/grad.txt">not-so-flatteirng piece</a> about me a year ago. Since then I have not been the paper’s biggest fan.<br /><br />For those of you too lazy to follow the link, the story is from the Alligator’s new sex columnist (and how anyone under the age of 25 is qualified to give good sex advice is beyond me) about the sultry, sweaty, heat-induced sexuality of being a University of Florida student (or “Gator” as some o<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5typTxYI/AAAAAAAAAmU/0Eo2Jj9SIl4/s1600-h/Blanche.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243520062506386818" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5typTxYI/AAAAAAAAAmU/0Eo2Jj9SIl4/s400/Blanche.jpg" border="0" /></a>f the more spirited prefer to be called). It reads like a slightly-more-literate Harlequin novel about a deliciously ribald Southern sexcapade. Or, more accurately, like a Blanche Devereaux monologue told over a piece of cheesecake in the kitchen. The heat, and the humidity, makes sexuality boil over here in Gainesville, and everyone in the city is just aching to do something that they’ll have to deny to their roommates the next day as they rush out to Walgreens at 10 a.m.<br /><br />Or such is the myth about life in a small, southern, college town.<br /><br />Now, I <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5kmRepdI/AAAAAAAAAmM/6kn4N2TFxA4/s1600-h/Flip+Cup.jpg"></a>actually happen to know the girl who wrote this column. She’s a good writer. H<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS57JXFWyI/AAAAAAAAAmc/oxYUC76EtEM/s1600-h/Girls+Makeout.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243520291942259490" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS57JXFWyI/AAAAAAAAAmc/oxYUC76EtEM/s400/Girls+Makeout.jpg" border="0" /></a>ell, if I were ever to admit that any college kid I had a class with was a better writer than me, she’d probably be it. But it seems that Stephanie is perpetuating a myth about this town that it is a four year orgy of sex, liquor and sweat, with an occasional break for class. And that rumor, my friends, needs to be squelched.<br /><br />Now I’ll admit, I do not exactly have my finger on the social pulse of Gainesville like I may have in Miami. Hell, I don’t even have my finger on the social toenail of this city. But if the sex is hanging in the air heavier than the humidity, as Miss Dunn implies, I must be walking around with a gasmask on. Because, like I did in Miami, I don’t leave bars before closing up here, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen somebody leaving with a partner they didn’t come in with.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5VvNFQoI/AAAAAAAAAmE/be0lG4op9j8/s1600-h/scud.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243519649265828482" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5VvNFQoI/AAAAAAAAAmE/be0lG4op9j8/s400/scud.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Just to give you an idea of how overstated this column is, here are a couple of passages that are about as accurate as your typical SCUD missile:<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Ironic, isn’t it, that at home, where everyone knew everyone, you couldn’t find anyone worthy of your superior body fluids? And if you did get laid back home, you were probably either settling or unaware of your potential. Admit it.<br /></em></span><br />Yeah, ok, I admit<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5HqBht7I/AAAAAAAAAl8/pvWS7hBNO6Y/s1600-h/fatties.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243519407357015986" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS5HqBht7I/AAAAAAAAAl8/pvWS7hBNO6Y/s400/fatties.jpg" border="0" /></a> that back home I probably did settle once or 20 times. But there were also a good number of times (3) where my potential was fully reached. And the underachieving I was doing in Miami was typically just out of laziness and boredom. Here it is out of necessity.<br /><br /><em><span style="color:#000099;">So without much warning, you’re thrust into a strange, new arena where more than 50,000 strangers, a collective mass of throbbing, carnal energy, are after you, seeking, well, exactly what you’re seeking — sex.</span></em><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS4fXz9JyI/AAAAAAAAAl0/c7adaX82zVI/s1600-h/blocker.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243518715273488162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS4fXz9JyI/AAAAAAAAAl0/c7adaX82zVI/s400/blocker.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Yeah, it’s fucking Miami Velvet North, Steph. Not so much. I’m pretty sure I know “throbbing, carnal energy” when I see it, and it is seldom in this town that it rears its throbbing head. And if everyone here is really out to get laid, why is it that the only blockers in Gainesville better than the guys in front of Tim Tebow are the sorority sisters of whichever girl you’re talking to at the bar?<br /><br />I’m not s<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS4QiIgc-I/AAAAAAAAAls/TgyzGkkUmlY/s1600-h/beer+bong.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243518460346004450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS4QiIgc-I/AAAAAAAAAls/TgyzGkkUmlY/s400/beer+bong.jpg" border="0" /></a>ure how Gainesville got this reputation as a sweaty, sultry capital of casual sex. Perhaps one too many undergrads realized getting laid in the real world took more than a bong and a room in a frat house and thought it was easier in college by comparison. Or maybe it’s like so many things in life, that people like to overstate it to make it seem cooler.<br /><br />But don’t be fooled folks, there’s about as much sexual tension in this town <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS3aSPVMsI/AAAAAAAAAlk/H5W3b32qNBA/s1600-h/married+couple.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243517528366723778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SMS3aSPVMsI/AAAAAAAAAlk/H5W3b32qNBA/s400/married+couple.jpg" border="0" /></a>as there is in the bedroom of a 50 year-old married couple. The hot and humid part she got right, but the sexual energy? I think that got left somewhere on the Turnpike. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2008/09/sultry-south-this-is-not.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-88130056565787831Wed, 13 Aug 2008 02:50:00 +00002008-09-08T00:44:12.103-05:00Chonga BagelChongasMiamiStarbucksThe Chonga Bagel: Apparently Howard Schultz Hasn't Spent Enough Time in Hialeah<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SKJM_iKud8I/AAAAAAAAAk4/lW55llCpAXI/s1600-h/DSCF6100.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233830371345201090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SKJM_iKud8I/AAAAAAAAAk4/lW55llCpAXI/s400/DSCF6100.JPG" border="0" /></a>Seattle, as anyone mildly familiar with United States geography, is about as far from Miami as one can get. Not only in terms of it being the single most unpleasant flight one can take in the contiguous Unites States, but also in that the cultures are about as similar as Fundamentalist Islam and San Francisco Gay.<br /><br />Never was this more evident than when I staggered into the Starbucks two blocks from my mother’s house (this is roughly twice the civic maximum any residence in Seattle is allowed to be from a Starbucks, but my mom is a lawyer and managed to work the system) and saw what was, quite possibly, the funniest Starbucks pastry I’ve ever seen. That’s right, apparently someone at Starbucks corporate hasn’t been spending enough time in Hialeah, and decid<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SKJO50Ur9xI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/N0EvQbbhRlg/s1600-h/DSCF6102.JPG"></a>ed to name their new breakfast creation “The Chonga Bagel.”<br /><br />No, it does not come with a complimentary eyebrow pencil and a couple of hoop earrings. Nor does it cause you to whine, “Brooooooo, noooooo, what iiiiiiis thaaaaat?” as soon as you bite in. The girl at the counter told me it stood for “Cheese Onion and Garlic,” bagel which I suppose would make sense to anyone who has not lived south of Palm Beach County. Despite this, I felt I should explain to her that in South Florida, it kinda stood for something different. Now, in uber-PC Seattle, even saying “It means a really trashy Hispanic girl” is cause for you to be removed from the premises. So I just told her to look it up in the urban dictionary when she got home, and then talk to me the next morning.<br /><br />The problem, of course, is that Seattle has about as many Hispanics as it d<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SKJNRJWwHWI/AAAAAAAAAlA/06YKCuU5g10/s1600-h/DSCF6105.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233830673922399586" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/SKJNRJWwHWI/AAAAAAAAAlA/06YKCuU5g10/s400/DSCF6105.JPG" border="0" /></a>oes annual sunny days, meaning that the odds of anyone within a 300-mile radius of this Starbucks knowing what Chonga was pretty slim. I guess Howard Schultz put about as much thought into naming this one as he did into selling the Sonics. Or at the very least, he has never spent an afternoon at Mall of The Americas.<br /><br />So I felt I should at least try the Chonga bagel, to see if it lived up to its equally nauseating namesake. I bit in, and instead of tasting like that luscious cocktail of Marlboro Lights, Navarro’s Lip Gloss and Au Du Westshester perfume that all the other Chongas I’ve had in my mouth tasted like, it actually tasted kinda like a stale onion bagel with burnt cheese. And that being said, I’m pretty sure I prefer the Starbucks version to the Hialeah one. At least there’s no risk of getting a bagel pregnant.<br /><br />And yes, I’m mulling a comeback. A year in Gainesville and a summer in Miami have given me months worth of material.http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2008/08/chonga-bagel-apparently-howard-schultz.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-4413554290640668023Mon, 10 Sep 2007 06:12:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:45.092-05:00The Independent AlligatorUFIf You're Here From the Alligator, Welcome!In case you are here for a reason other than this story:<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTixze7ZlI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/Oam9B-uPnxw/s1600-h/alligator.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108457222606382674" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTixze7ZlI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/Oam9B-uPnxw/s400/alligator.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.alligator.org/articles/2007/09/11/news/campus/grad.txt">http://www.alligator.org/articles/2007/09/11/news/campus/grad.txt</a><br /><br />No, I am not back. I just wanted to give a quick orientation to the possible new folks who may be coming my way thanks to the good folks at the Alligator.<br /><br />Today I would like to give the “Hey, I wonder why anyone cares about this guy?” or the “Hey, I think that guy is in my Reporting Lecture” or the “Hey, that’s my TA!” crowd a little primer on White Dade. First, the posts on this page are simply the last few I wrote before I hung up the keyboard back in July. The real good stuff is linked over on the right hand side over there and is probably waaaaay more entertaining and offensive and incriminating than the five or six posts I have on this front page (one of which was not even written by me). So check those out before you call the Dean’s office asking for my removal.<br /><br />Oh, and that picture on my profile? Definitely not me, Bob. Definitely not me.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div>For those who wonder what all this is about, app<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTisje7ZkI/AAAAAAAAAkI/Iqa9yO8X1J8/s1600-h/fox+news.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108457132412069442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTisje7ZkI/AAAAAAAAAkI/Iqa9yO8X1J8/s400/fox+news.jpg" border="0" /></a>arently some people were a little miffed that I had been admitted to the Journalism School at UF. Miffed enough, I guess, to contact the school and let them know about White Dade. I’m not sure why this is, as we boast an athletic department full of people with extensive criminal records who seemed to get in just fine. But apparently a guy who might be a little frustrated by the inherant language barriers in Dade County should be denied admittance. So the Alligator got wind of it and since UF was playing Little Sisters of The Poor in football last week, and, oh yeah, we're in Gainesville where it's either report about this or the pothole that got fixed over off Waldo, I got a call asking for comment before they ran the story. And so we get what we got here today. Ironic to run it on September 11, don't you think?</div><br /><div>This blog once had a readership of about 1500 people a day. Not exactly the circulation of the Allig<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTieje7ZiI/AAAAAAAAAj4/v245KArb5gY/s1600-h/jenn.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108456891893900834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTieje7ZiI/AAAAAAAAAj4/v245KArb5gY/s400/jenn.jpg" border="0" /></a>ator, but pretty good for a guy who was bored at work and never promoted his blog past his circle of acquaintances. My most noteworthy post was a scathing indictment of FSU Cowgirl Jenn Sterger which, along with getting me on the radio and linked by dozens of college message boards and Web sites(including UF’s), also got me a free dinner at Hooters with the Cowgirls and barbecue at her parents' house. You know why? Because Jenn Sterger had a sense of humor about it, that’s why. If anyone ever stood to be personally offended by anything I wrote, it was the girl who I described as being “everything wrong with America.” And you know what the first thing she said to me when I met her was? “That thing about me was the funniest shit I ever read.” And then she proceeded to invite me to dinner. Instead of getting mad, she learned to laugh at herself, and at me, and nobody got too bent out of shape.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTiYje7ZhI/AAAAAAAAAjw/5_mkxVmk56g/s1600-h/crying+eagle.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108456788814685714" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RuTiYje7ZhI/AAAAAAAAAjw/5_mkxVmk56g/s400/crying+eagle.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>So before you go digging through my archives looking for something that you can get outraged about, remember to have a sense of humor. Or else it is in fact YOU who is everything that is wrong with America and that, friends, is a lot worse that some girl at a football game. </div></div></div></div>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/09/if-youre-here-from-alligator-welcome.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-644340957168345539Mon, 02 Jul 2007 21:53:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:46.761-05:00Someone Else is Going to Have to Turn Out The Lights<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2MqCXNMI/AAAAAAAAAjU/p7yz7bggxD4/s1600-h/leaving+Miami.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2MqCXNMI/AAAAAAAAAjU/p7yz7bggxD4/s400/leaving+Miami.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082723614279021762" border="0" /></a>Yep, this is it. The End. Fine. Terminado. Fintio. Whatever you wanna call it, this is the last new post I’m putting up here for a long time. Does this mean I’m never going to grace this site with my perils of wisdom again? Of course it doesn’t. Being someone who is never at a loss for words I can almost promise you I will have something to opine upon after the tearful, heartfelt goodbye I give you now. But it may not be for a week, a month, a few months, whatever. But, as I’ve said before, I’ve ridden this blog for all its worth, and now it’s time to say goodbye. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2HaCXNLI/AAAAAAAAAjM/ozDQ86ql5Tk/s1600-h/end+is+near.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2HaCXNLI/AAAAAAAAAjM/ozDQ86ql5Tk/s400/end+is+near.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082723524084708530" border="0" /></a>ple, most of them alleged “friends,” of mine have made fun of me for continuing on with the blog. But I can safely say that along with the six years I spent in the Marine Corps and that bartending course I took last summer it is one of the most worthwhile things I have ever done. Writing this blog, and getting the reaction I have gotten, has showed me that its not just my mom and some coworkers who think I write pretty well, at one point 1200 people a day were agreeing. It gave me direction in a time when I had figured out that what I thought I wanted to do with my life wasn’t what I wanted to do, and that, friends, is perhaps the greatest thing that has come out of the 300-plus virtual pages contained here at White Dade.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2DaCXNKI/AAAAAAAAAjE/LljMVbGjt_M/s1600-h/UF.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2DaCXNKI/AAAAAAAAAjE/LljMVbGjt_M/s400/UF.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082723455365231778" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s funny, my friend Larry used to devote a lot of virtual ink to making fun of people who started blogs, hoping to someday be “discovered” and get a paid writing job, admitted to top journalism schools, get laid by hot girls, meet minor celebrities, get drinks bought for you, and maybe even catch the eye of some mainstream organization that wants the rights to your stuff. That, of course, seems like a pipe dream when you start your blogger account. But I guess to a lucky few it actually does happen.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1k6CXNJI/AAAAAAAAAi8/mlfkxD8j23k/s1600-h/end+sign.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1k6CXNJI/AAAAAAAAAi8/mlfkxD8j23k/s400/end+sign.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082722931379221650" border="0" /></a>So while it would be a vast misstatement at this point to say this blog has made me famous, it has at least shown me that if you are truly good at something people will notice. I have made countless friends and met all kinds of interesting people thanks to this venture. I now have places to stay in cities I had never before visited. And that, too, has been a really cool thing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And as much as I’d love to say this is all thanks to me and my glorious ab<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1Z6CXNII/AAAAAAAAAi0/PE538CZnwzE/s1600-h/leo.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 129px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1Z6CXNII/AAAAAAAAAi0/PE538CZnwzE/s400/leo.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082722742400660610" border="0" /></a>ilities, there are a lot of people who I would like to thank for their various contributions, support, or, you know, other things I probably shouldn’t mention. But without them this whole experience would definitely not have been what it was. So (in no particular order) to IJC Matt, Alice, Larry, Patrice, Tara, Nicole, Jason, Jessica, Ate, Roosh, David in DC, Allison, Gen, Gus, Mikhail, Maria, Rick and Alex from Stuck on The Palmetto, Graig, Cliff, Seuc, Matt Ufford, Amber, Margaryta, Trevor, Jenn, Leo and the whole S<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1UaCXNHI/AAAAAAAAAis/44ltPFh1MtU/s1600-h/cheney.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1UaCXNHI/AAAAAAAAAis/44ltPFh1MtU/s400/cheney.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082722647911380082" border="0" /></a>terger family, Heather, Shannon, Gabriel Morency, Alex Cabrera, Maggie, Mo, Ali, Johnson, Angela, Erik, Jonathan, and anyone else I forgot, well, Eat a Dick. My memory isn’t THAT good. And, yes, there are others out there I have to thank for a lot of things, but most of them are not blog-related.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1O6CXNGI/AAAAAAAAAik/_fT2WhLo4_w/s1600-h/end+of+suffering.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1O6CXNGI/AAAAAAAAAik/_fT2WhLo4_w/s400/end+of+suffering.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082722553422099554" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My aim in writing this was to inform and entertain. I hope those of you who read this and aren’t from Miami now understand that being white in this city is as close to being a true minority as you can get in this country. It’s not like LA, so stop comparing it. Some of you think I’m racist, and some of you think I am a sad, sad attention whore. And to some degree, I’m sure you are right. But what I have done here has been extremely worthwhile and I have no regrets about it, despite anyone who may have been offended.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1G6CXNFI/AAAAAAAAAic/s8EX1EFIfII/s1600-h/hugging.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol1G6CXNFI/AAAAAAAAAic/s8EX1EFIfII/s400/hugging.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082722415983146066" border="0" /></a>By now, most of you know my name and what I look like (no, that is NOT me in the picture). If you ever had a doubt feel free to check out my other stuff at Miamibeach411.com. I miss the days of anonymity, but giving it up has allowed me to move on to a lot of other thing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol076CXNEI/AAAAAAAAAiU/cGV-IdoIJgI/s1600-h/nixon.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol076CXNEI/AAAAAAAAAiU/cGV-IdoIJgI/s400/nixon.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082722227004585026" border="0" /></a>s.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I guess this is my teary-eyed goodbye, everyone. Thanks for a great year-and-a-half or so, and check back in sometime. I spent three days in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Gainesville</st1:place></st1:city> last week and I can safely say there is no shortage of material when you are the oldest guy in town at 27.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2P6CXNNI/AAAAAAAAAjc/rMtQeGBYk2k/s1600-h/kiss+goodbye.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rol2P6CXNNI/AAAAAAAAAjc/rMtQeGBYk2k/s400/kiss+goodbye.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082723670113596626" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">SO LONG, SUCKERS!!!!! </span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/07/will-last-white-person-out-of-miami.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-6283724690787020679Thu, 21 Jun 2007 21:36:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:48.160-05:00BaseballGuns N RosesMusicSandy KoufaxWhat do Sandy Koufax and Guns N Roses Have in Common?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrwQstsUGI/AAAAAAAAAgM/WCs1SujKgac/s1600-h/300.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrwQstsUGI/AAAAAAAAAgM/WCs1SujKgac/s400/300.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078635699485036642" border="0" /></a>Today marks the 300<sup>th</sup> post in the history of this blog. That’s a lot. Probably too many. Probably like 100 too many as this blog peaked a while ago and probably should have quit while I was ahead. But what occurred to me as I stretched this thing out for as much milk as I could get was this: The things in life that are truly great are short and almost perfect and stop before they create any other impressions. Now this can encompass a lot of things, but in the realm of sports and entertainment the prime examples, oddly, are Sandy Koufax and Guns N’ Roses. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Though Kofax played for twelve seasons, nobody really remembers m<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrwG8tsUFI/AAAAAAAAAgE/WTA657WXfkY/s1600-h/Koufax+Throws.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrwG8tsUFI/AAAAAAAAAgE/WTA657WXfkY/s400/Koufax+Throws.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078635531981312082" border="0" /></a>uch about him before 1961 when he won 18 games for the Dodgers. For the next six seasons, and especially the last four, he was far and away the most dominant pitcher in baseball, winning over 25 games three times, notching 3 Cy Young Awards (in an era when it went to only one pitcher in all of baseball) and one MVP. It is a legacy of domination that has never been matched in such a period, and may n<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rnrv_stsUEI/AAAAAAAAAf8/WShKqvir8hA/s1600-h/johnson.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rnrv_stsUEI/AAAAAAAAAf8/WShKqvir8hA/s400/johnson.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078635407427260482" border="0" /></a>ever be seen again. And then, after pitching in the 1966 World Series, a season where he won 27 games, Koufax called it quits citing his arthritic left arm. So while his career totals will never be on the level of Tom Seaver, Nolan Ryan, Randy Johnson or Roger Clemens, all of them would gladly trade fifteen of their years in the big leagues for one of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sandy</st1:place></st1:city>’s. What they wouldn’t trade, of course, is the $15 million they made in each of those fifteen season.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The point in Koufax was greater than anyone for a short period, and vanished before his legacy could be marred.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rnrv3MtsUDI/AAAAAAAAAf0/Ko9Ns5VMf5k/s1600-h/GNR.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rnrv3MtsUDI/AAAAAAAAAf0/Ko9Ns5VMf5k/s400/GNR.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078635261398372402" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As for Guns N’ Roses, well, I have heard it argued that they are the greatest rock band of all time. And while I’m not sure whether or not I agree with that statement, there is a very simple reason why it is arguable: While some bands are great and continue to make music well after they are eligible to collect social security, most of t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rnrvx8tsUCI/AAAAAAAAAfs/x6S5D5MT-Tg/s1600-h/lies.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rnrvx8tsUCI/AAAAAAAAAfs/x6S5D5MT-Tg/s400/lies.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078635171204059170" border="0" /></a>hem have had a bad album or five. As a matter of fact, I’d be hard pressed to think of a single legendary band that didn’t make at least one album that was wholly forgettable. Guns N’ Roses? They never even made a bad SONG. Essentially they came out with three albums (if you count Use Your Illusion as 2) and an EP (Lies) and I don’t think there’s a song on any of them that I skip. And after 1991 they never put out another record.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrvrstsUBI/AAAAAAAAAfk/oTyY2nVCt7s/s1600-h/axl+screeam.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrvrstsUBI/AAAAAAAAAfk/oTyY2nVCt7s/s400/axl+screeam.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078635063829876754" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And not like Nirvana or Hendrix or Janis Joplin where they did it because someone died. No, they did it because Axl Rose is crazy. But maybe he knows something we don’t. Maybe he saw that his band couldn’t continue to make some of the most unique and hard-driving rock ever for <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrvlstsUAI/AAAAAAAAAfc/ySVqPCQtFKU/s1600-h/axl+bw.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrvlstsUAI/AAAAAAAAAfc/ySVqPCQtFKU/s200/axl+bw.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078634960750661634" border="0" /></a>decades, and saw no reason to keep on doing it. Or maybe he’s just an egotistical whackjob. Who knows? The point is Guns N’ Roses left us all with nothing but good music. There is no regrettable reunion album. There is no tour where they want to play some “new stuff” and everyone gets up to go to the bathroom. No. Guns N’ Roses made three and a half of the best rock albums ever and then said “Fuck it. We’re done.” So all we remember is the greatness.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrvfstsT_I/AAAAAAAAAfU/Sk6ZMNwjFrg/s1600-h/koufax+wins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnrvfstsT_I/AAAAAAAAAfU/Sk6ZMNwjFrg/s200/koufax+wins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078634857671446514" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think money and greed keep a lot of people from going out on top. They see the opportunity to get more so they put out a mediocre product and their legacy is tarnished. I am not comparing myself to either of the aforementioned entities, by the way, just using them to illustrate a point. In my mind, the greatest things in life are almost perfect for a short period and then disappear. Leaving us with only memories of the good, and not holding on to create memories of the bad.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/what-do-sandy-koufax-and-guns-n-roses.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-7480981568143708318Tue, 19 Jun 2007 19:29:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:48.736-05:00DatinggirlsrelationshipsCasual Dating is Not For Everyone<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvYctsT-I/AAAAAAAAAfM/KS5dP_eQTbk/s1600-h/casual+sex.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvYctsT-I/AAAAAAAAAfM/KS5dP_eQTbk/s400/casual+sex.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077860676931440610" border="0" /></a>Casual dating. It’s sort of a vague term, isn’t it? What exactly does “casual” mean? Does it mean you show up in polos and jeans for dates? No invitiaiton is required and the ceremonial formalities are set aside? You only eat at Baja Fresh? No, that would be Quick Casual Dating. A lot of people have different definitions for casual dating, but I think to most it means spending some social time together, generally sleeping together, but not having any sort of obligation to the other person. More than a fuck buddy but not a full blow significant other Basically, it is all the fun of a relationship without all the hassle. Of course, the downside is that if you are only dating someone casually, they may casually drop you like hot potato if they don’t like the color of the shirt you’re wearing. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvUMtsT9I/AAAAAAAAAfE/-M28RZs0xHA/s1600-h/unhappy+couple.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvUMtsT9I/AAAAAAAAAfE/-M28RZs0xHA/s400/unhappy+couple.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077860603916996562" border="0" /></a>Most relationships start out casual, then either progress into semi-serious exclusive relationships or terminate, within a short period of time. There are of course exceptions. For example when one or both people are leaving the geographic location in the near future (like the Spring Break boyfriend) and no future is intended past the occasional “Hey, I’m in town for a convention, want to get together?” Or sometimes neither party wants the responsibility of a relationship but still wants to “hang out” and “get laid.” Which is all well and good so long as both parties know the deal. But here, kids, is the problem….</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A lot of people can’t handle it. And, not surprisingly, a lot of these people are female. More have become accustomed to the concept, but women still often have some sort of emotional attachment to someone they sleep with and spend time with regularly and therefore <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvMMtsT8I/AAAAAAAAAe8/EAPbWkAzsrc/s1600-h/sending+plowers.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvMMtsT8I/AAAAAAAAAe8/EAPbWkAzsrc/s400/sending+plowers.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077860466478043074" border="0" /></a>cannot exist in this sort of “casual relationship” vacuum. But I have found that as much shit as guys talk about being is some sort of “perfect situation” where they have someone to sleep with and someone to take them to the airport if need be, a lot of them can’t handle casuality either. Guys who brag about how they have strings free sex with a girl they repeatedly describe as “cool” and “fun”? Yeah, the minute she starts seeing someone else he’ll be sending roses to her office. Trust me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvActsT6I/AAAAAAAAAes/T7KKSEgOtIE/s1600-h/frustrated.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RngvActsT6I/AAAAAAAAAes/T7KKSEgOtIE/s400/frustrated.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077860264614580130" border="0" /></a>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In much the same vain as men and women who try to be platonic friends, one person usually starts to want some sort of commitment. And then the fun is ruined. Then decisions have to be made and ultimatums are given and either one person gets hurt or another gets lassoed into a situation that is more committed than they had intended. And nobody ends up happy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My point today is this: If you can’t handle casual dating, don’t do it. If you are not fully prepared for the realization that you are no the only casual partner this person has, don’t do it. If you aren’t totally comfortable with the fact that the relationship, such as it is, will come to a predetermined end, don’t get into it. O<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rngu6stsT5I/AAAAAAAAAek/LYvYtUEF-uw/s1600-h/spraypaint.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rngu6stsT5I/AAAAAAAAAek/LYvYtUEF-uw/s400/spraypaint.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077860165830332306" border="0" /></a>h, so you started developing feelings for someone? Well, that’s sweet. But knowing you are the sort of person who develops feelings should arm you with the knowledge that you probably cannot handle sex and social outings with someone to whom you have no obligation whatsoever. And<span style=""> </span>who has no obligation to you. Stick to one night stands or relationships because this is a road you are not properly equipped to go down. And this goes for men and women. Casual dating is not for the faint of heart, folks. Probably only for the ones made of stone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/casual-dating-is-not-for-everyone.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-425922590382562804Mon, 18 Jun 2007 18:19:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:49.681-05:00Alachua CountyGainesvilleMiamiUFWhite Alachua Just Doesn't Have The Same Ring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNUstsT4I/AAAAAAAAAec/MQKvL7Pk7nQ/s1600-h/leaving+miami.jpe"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077471385390698370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNUstsT4I/AAAAAAAAAec/MQKvL7Pk7nQ/s400/leaving+miami.jpe" border="0" /></a>In other big news, I’m leaving <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city>. Those who know me personally knew this already, but for those of you who don’t, after 9 years I am saying goodbye to <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Dade</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. At least for now. We all know I can only avoid the crack that is <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place> for so long before I come running bac<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNRctsT3I/AAAAAAAAAeU/yQm1_3f21pg/s1600-h/Ginesville.jpe"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077471329556123506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNRctsT3I/AAAAAAAAAeU/yQm1_3f21pg/s400/Ginesville.jpe" border="0" /></a>k. <p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">No, the overabundance of Latin culture did not finally get to me. No, I am not finally voting with my feet and going somewhere normal. No, I am not in search of more white girls. If that were the case I’d never leave; I have almost a monopoly on the market. And no, this has absolutely nothing to do with any of the over 300 reasons I have listed that <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mia</st1:place></st1:city><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">mi</st1:place></st1:city> is an awful place to live. Much as I complain, I love the damn place.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">No, folks, this is a life-decision type thing. Over the past year I have been applying to graduate schools and got into most of them. Northwestern and <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Texas</st1:place></st1:state> can eat a dick, that’s all I have to say. But the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Florida</st1:placename></st1:place> was nice enough to accept me, and I accepted them back. And as of August, I will officially become a resident of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Alachua County</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">Florida</st1:state></st1:place>. So now I have yet another reason to absolutely fucking despise <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Florida</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNNctsT2I/AAAAAAAAAeM/97rZP_3rnfo/s1600-h/alachua+swamp.jpe"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077471260836646754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNNctsT2I/AAAAAAAAAeM/97rZP_3rnfo/s400/alachua+swamp.jpe" border="0" /></a>This will be the first time I have lived somewhere other than a major city. As in somewhere 110 miles from the nearest airport with direct flights to anywhere other than <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Atlanta</st1:place></st1:city> and completely devoid of professional sports. Or traffic. So while my rants about nobody speaking English and nobody showing up on time for anything may be gone, I have a feeling they may be replaced by a whole new breed of rant. I have lost the ability to communicate with anyone under the age of 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNIctsT1I/AAAAAAAAAeE/OOy8w7isVkg/s1600-h/cracker.jpe"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077471174937300818" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNIctsT1I/AAAAAAAAAeE/OOy8w7isVkg/s400/cracker.jpe" border="0" /></a>2 over the past year, just in time to move to a city where anyone who remembers Alex Keaton <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>is considered “old.” I have also realized that <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Gainesville</st1:place></st1:city> is sports-mad, which is the tell-tale sign of a city with nothing better to do than watch other people play sports. Have I mentioned that rednecks get on my nerves? And, seriously, if you’re going to call yourself the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Sunshine</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place> it should not get below 50 in the winter. What the fuck?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And h<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNCMtsT0I/AAAAAAAAAd8/OH68_uUeVs8/s1600-h/Kingdome.jpe"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077471067563118402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbNCMtsT0I/AAAAAAAAAd8/OH68_uUeVs8/s400/Kingdome.jpe" border="0" /></a>ave you seen the fat people in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Orlando</st1:place></st1:city>? And why the hell is it so goddam hard to get Gator tickets? At UM, the year after they won the national title and were ranked #1, you could walk up to the <st1:place st="on">Orange</st1:place> bowl and buy off the scalpers for below face value. Don’t you North Florida Crackers have anything better to do? And have you BEEN to Tropicana Field? I thought baseball didn’t get any worse than watching it in the old Kingdome, boy was I wrong.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbM9ctsTzI/AAAAAAAAAd0/bpMnfIoQgIk/s1600-h/marshmellow+gator.jpe"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077470985958739762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnbM9ctsTzI/AAAAAAAAAd0/bpMnfIoQgIk/s400/marshmellow+gator.jpe" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So I am not worried, folks. While I will be returning to life in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">United States</st1:country-region></st1:place>, surrounded by White girls and never hearing Reggeaton, there will still be plenty to rant about. I’m not saying to keep a lookout for “White Alachua” coming to you any time soon, but I may drop in my two bits every once and a while. Or four bits. Or six bits, a dollar. ALL FOR THE GATORS, STAND UP AND HOLLER!!!!!!!!!!!!!</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/white-alachua-just-doesnt-have-same.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-200033115925409159Thu, 14 Jun 2007 16:31:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:51.268-05:00blondesDatinggirlsGirls Who Are Out of your LeagueHispanicsA White Girl's Perspective on Latin Guys<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzkstsTyI/AAAAAAAAAds/AK-CYbwX94U/s1600-h/marisa.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzkstsTyI/AAAAAAAAAds/AK-CYbwX94U/s400/marisa.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075965329338552098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">I have been asked, by more than one tall, blonde local girl, to do a post telling short Latin guys to stop hitting on them. The thing is, I really lack the proper perspective form which to write this as I am neither blonde nor a girl. Apparently, though, they find it kind of irritating. This bodes all the better for me, of course, because the overabundance of short guys hitting on them forces tall girls to go for the first guy over 5’8” they see, which is often me. At any rate, I suggested to one of the ladies who wanted me to do such a post that she write one herself. And so she did. What follows is what is going through the mind of a tall, attractive American girl when being hit on unsolicited by a short, Latin guy:</span><br /><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Being a tall, blonde-haired blue-eyed female, I would like to share my thought<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzgstsTxI/AAAAAAAAAdk/7SZhrxwlEPc/s1600-h/pich+up+cartoon.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzgstsTxI/AAAAAAAAAdk/7SZhrxwlEPc/s400/pich+up+cartoon.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075965260619075346" border="0" /></a>s on the perplexing phenomenon of short Hispanic guys hitting on tall, hot, blonde American chicks. A pandemic that, while not unique to <st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city>, is more offensive when it occurs here due to the particular nature of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place>'s social (ab)norms.<span style=""> </span>I say "pandemic" because I can't think of one girl who's ever discussed this topic with me and expressed anything other than sentiments ranging from mild annoyance to downright personal offense.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzQ8tsTvI/AAAAAAAAAdU/xPbVo_KX1ug/s1600-h/blonde+at+bar.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzQ8tsTvI/AAAAAAAAAdU/xPbVo_KX1ug/s400/blonde+at+bar.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075964990036135666" border="0" /></a>typical encounter generally proceeds as follows:<span style=""> </span>Hot blonde chick (HBC) sits down at bar to await the arrival of her friend/date. She intends for her behavior upon entering the bar to place the various Hispanic men around her on notice that their overtures will fall on deaf ears should they be dumb enough to direct them at her.<span style=""> </span>But the usual games of pretending to wait for a friend, or even better a boyfriend, fail 99 times out of 100 with most impervious-to-rejection Latin guys.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Despite HBC's careful analysis of the situation and resulting seat selection, she is immediately eyefucked by every Hispanic guy at the bar.<span style=""> </span>And not a one of them has the decency t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzYstsTwI/AAAAAAAAAdc/hQWM5pK9Mw8/s1600-h/Latinas.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzYstsTwI/AAAAAAAAAdc/hQWM5pK9Mw8/s400/Latinas.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075965123180121858" border="0" /></a>o hide this fact from the Marta's and Maria's and Maricella's who either accompanied them to the bar or wish to accompany them home.<span style=""> </span>So now poor HBC has to deal not only with the incessant eyefucking but she must also manage to act like she doesn’t notice the 10 fat Cuban chicks glaring at her while plotting her demise in the women's bathroom should HBC be dumb enough to venture there alone.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As said Latin Guy approaches, HBC makes an effort to avoid the impending u<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzLstsTuI/AAAAAAAAAdM/7FrYsUmkoKg/s1600-h/nude+phone.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzLstsTuI/AAAAAAAAAdM/7FrYsUmkoKg/s400/nude+phone.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075964899841822434" border="0" /></a>ncomfortable encounter.<span style=""> </span>She looks down at her phone (it must be on vibrate, because no one heard it ring), hits a button and starts talking. "Hey, Babe.<span style=""> </span>Where are you?<span style=""> </span>I got you a beer."<span style=""> </span>She speaks slowly and in mono-syllables so that this guy, who is now brushing up against her elbow due to the fact that his concept of personal space is just as impaired as his ability to read white women, can understand that she’s talking to her man. <span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, he doesn't care.<span style=""> </span>He interrupts her phone conversation to ask her where she's from. <span style=""> </span>(This is always a safe question with white girls, as it’s clear they usually aren't from here.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzActsTtI/AAAAAAAAAdE/g5mTfm1ECgU/s1600-h/short+guy.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFzActsTtI/AAAAAAAAAdE/g5mTfm1ECgU/s400/short+guy.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075964706568294098" border="0" /></a>That's it. HBC has had it.<span style=""> </span>She might be polite, but this is downright insulting.<span style=""> </span>Not only is she on the phone with her man but, even if she weren't, who gave this guy the impression that someone like HER would be interested in someone like HIM?<span style=""> </span>Perhaps if she stands up he will see that she is a good 3 inches taller than his 5'5" and will immediately realize the err of his ways.<span style=""> </span>So she does.<span style=""> </span>Yet, instead of him mumbling some half-English excuse and running away with his tail between his legs, he says in that all-too-familiar <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place> accent, "Wow.<span style=""> </span>You're tall." </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At this point, HBC doesn't even have to pretend to be a bitch, because she is thoroughly ince<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFy08tsTsI/AAAAAAAAAc8/WzcYo0rMDg4/s1600-h/angry.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFy08tsTsI/AAAAAAAAAc8/WzcYo0rMDg4/s400/angry.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075964508999798466" border="0" /></a>nsed that she has done everything in her power to discourage this interaction, to no avail.<span style=""> </span>HBC gives said Latin Guy the cold stare she reserves specifically for unwanted male advances, turns back to her phone, and very loudly explains to her answering machine that "This short asshole next to me thinks its ok to interrupt someone in the middle of a conversation. <span style=""> </span>What the fuck?!?!<span style=""> </span>I know, I know.<span style=""> </span>Seriously.<span style=""> </span>As if I would go for someone like THAT.<span style=""> </span>We've really got to find some new hangouts.<span style=""> </span>Like maybe in Broward." <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In th<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFyNctsTrI/AAAAAAAAAc0/vWwU5WWmYL4/s1600-h/pick+up+ine.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFyNctsTrI/AAAAAAAAAc0/vWwU5WWmYL4/s400/pick+up+ine.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075963830394965682" border="0" /></a>e spirit of open-mindedness characteristic of this blog, I think it’s likely there is some underlying motivation behind this phenomenon that us white folk have failed to ascertain.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps these guys just want to be seen talking to a white chick for long enough to convince that little gordita across the bar that, while he could go home with a white girl, he chooses her.<span style=""> </span>Nothing gets a Hispanic girl's panties wetter than thinking her guy passed over a chance with a pretty white girl to be with her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Or maybe he is angry with white women in general, for constantly acting as i<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFyGstsTqI/AAAAAAAAAcs/aCWiKkldTYU/s1600-h/latin+men.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnFyGstsTqI/AAAAAAAAAcs/aCWiKkldTYU/s400/latin+men.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075963714430848674" border="0" /></a>f height corresponds with dick size. Either way, maybe this pisses him off enough that he takes every opportunity he gets to make white girls uncomfortable.<span style=""> </span>Or maybe, like White Dade, these guys just like to play the odds of the fact that there just aren't enough white guys in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city> to go around and so, at some point, an HBC is likely going to have to settle for a Latino.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Because it surely can't be the case that short Hispanic guys actually think tall hot blonde chicks are attracted to them….Can it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/white-girls-perspective-on-latin-guys.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)88tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-5162299815419435384Wed, 13 Jun 2007 22:43:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:51.779-05:00Bloggingwhitedade.comWritingTwo Weeks Notice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnBzV8tsTpI/AAAAAAAAAck/8jcUD_RdRuI/s1600-h/leaving.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RnBzV8tsTpI/AAAAAAAAAck/8jcUD_RdRuI/s400/leaving.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075683600958770834" border="0" /></a>Even my most ardent of fans have brought it to my attention that I seem to have run out of ideas. And let me tell you, folks, this is not news to me at all. I have even mentioned here several times that my newfound paid writing gig has sucked all the ideas out of my head leaving this poor blog with the dregs of my creativity. And for that, I am sorry. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is also apparent that this blog is not what it once was. Traffic is down to about a third of what it was five months ago, as apparently not as many people are looking for pictures of Jenn Sterger as they used to be. Comments have waned to almost nothing, as even ANON1 doesn’t bother to make fun of me anymore. The comments section at Whitedade.com has become a constant billboard for online poker and Viagra ads. I am watching my Technorati rating drop faster than Notre Dame's during the first three weeks of football season.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br />I have more or less abandoned any hints of anonymity, and thus have lost that mysterious element that was once there. Everyone knows who I am, where I live, what I write and what I look like. All sacrifices I had to make for greater success, but still at the expense of some of this site's appeal.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And, as my good friend Larry of “This is What We Do Now” former-fame pointed out in a recent email, personal blogs seem to have lost their luster. As he put it , “several of you have retired, or taken hiatuses, and it seems the overall number of comments on many of the more popular blogs are down, and as we all know, comments tend to have a direct correlation to number of visitors.” And this is true. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Combined with all my good ideas being sold to MiamiBeach411, the other ideas I have I can’t write because of who reads my blog now. I won’t go into any more detail here, but since my Miami-specific stuff goes there and my personal life is for all intents and purposes off-limits, there just ain’t much for these pages anymore.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So it is with a semi-heavy heart I hand you folks my two-week notice. That is to say I still have a few more post ideas in me and I’d hate to go without even saying good bye. Or at least telling you all what I’m up to and other reasons why I’m leaving. Haters, I’m sure this will inspire a slew of ‘yeah, you jumped the shark four months ago” comments, but even bad TV shows are held on until the end of the season. So this June will mark the end of White Dade as you all knew it. But hold on these last couple of weeks. There should be at least one post that is up to my old standards.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/two-weeks-notice.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-8429143797022117183Thu, 07 Jun 2007 21:44:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:52.390-05:00Air TravelMiamiMiami Internaitonal AirportQuit Hating on MIA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9V8tsToI/AAAAAAAAAcc/RAJW5vgNjCs/s1600-h/MIA.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9V8tsToI/AAAAAAAAAcc/RAJW5vgNjCs/s400/MIA.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073442796261363330" border="0" /></a>I read a snippet over on Stuck on The Palmetto today where some Brit rips the good folks at <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Miami</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">International</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place> a new one for having sub-par shopping and surly counter help. Now, first of all, I am not a huge fan of MIA, but as far as airports go I have been to much worse. I mean, we have places to eat and padded chairs. Isn’t that enough? And as for the surly counter help, well, what better way to get people accustomed to a city full of bad service than to let them know right off not to expect friendly help form anyone? Actually, I don’t even notice the rude airp<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9SstsTnI/AAAAAAAAAcU/N22b9yHNnjA/s1600-h/terminal.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9SstsTnI/AAAAAAAAAcU/N22b9yHNnjA/s400/terminal.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073442740426788466" border="0" /></a>ort employees as after 9 years here I am pretty much desensitized to it. But I guess the courteous Brits see it otherwise. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But it got me thinking: Our standards for what makes a good airport have really gone up. I remember when I was a kid you pretty much had the option of a hot dog or a soft pretzel if you got hungry during a layover. Now if you don’t have a restaurant form a celebrity chef in the terminal you are more or less second rate. And lest we forget the old coin-operated black-and-white TV’s that got four channels on a clear day. Now we have flat screens g<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9NMtsTmI/AAAAAAAAAcM/3p6e-dSy_Nk/s1600-h/skylights.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9NMtsTmI/AAAAAAAAAcM/3p6e-dSy_Nk/s400/skylights.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073442645937507938" border="0" /></a>iving us the CNN airport network nonstop, not to mention countless bars where you can go to watch your favorite game. Or the 9<sup>th</sup> rerun of SportsCenter that morning. This person from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Englan</st1:place></st1:country-region><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">d</st1:place></st1:country-region> was upset because there was nowhere at MIA to buy a digital camera. I’m sorry, I was unaware they had a Best Buy at Heathorw. What the fuck do you expect? It’s a fucking AIRPORT. It serves to get passengers on airplanes and as a port of their arrival. And now you bitch because you couldn’t find a place to go electronics shopping without having to go back through security? Give me a break.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What makes a good airport, to me, is the speed at which you get through things. That is to say fast check-in, fast security and fast luggage pick up. MIA is pretty good except on the last one, which is t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9I8tsTlI/AAAAAAAAAcE/kQ98cdC0MXM/s1600-h/vegas.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh9I8tsTlI/AAAAAAAAAcE/kQ98cdC0MXM/s400/vegas.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073442572923063890" border="0" /></a>ypically a 24-48 hour wait for a bag. Still I, along with most locals, will fly out of <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Ft.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Lauderdale</st1:placename></st1:place> if possible as it is an easier airport al laround. But in my expensive travels, I have to say that MIA is far above a lot of bad ones. LAX, JFK, <st1:city st="on">Newark</st1:city> and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Las Vegas</st1:place></st1:city> are all way worse. Vegas actually has a lot of amenities, including a gym, but I have never had a plane leave there on time in my life. Their terminals also feature slot machines. Coincidence? I think not. <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Orlando</st1:place></st1:city> is pretty awful. <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Atlanta</st1:place></st1:city> is a clusterfuck. Why so much hating on MIA?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I read the other day that <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city>, probably because of its former reputation as a dru<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh87MtsTkI/AAAAAAAAAb8/5Dr-GFAOAFs/s1600-h/skyline.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rmh87MtsTkI/AAAAAAAAAb8/5Dr-GFAOAFs/s400/skyline.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073442336699862594" border="0" /></a>g-smuggling hub, is the pioneering American airport when it comes to security. I know it has its delays, but so does every airport and I’ve found MIA to be way less confusing than <st1:city st="on">Dallas</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Atlanta</st1:place></st1:city> or O’Hare. And security lines here move way faster than at a lot of major airports I’ve been to, most notably LAX (aka America’s worst airport, again indicative of the city it occupies). So stop hating on MIA. As far as government-run facilities in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Dade</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>, its about as efficient and effective as they come. And that, friends, is a pretty sad statement.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/quit-hating-on-mia.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-2549540075065972834Tue, 05 Jun 2007 22:40:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:52.539-05:00HispanicsSpanishWhy I Don't Speak Spanish<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmXmq8tsTjI/AAAAAAAAAb0/QDytw-kNMGQ/s1600-h/spanish.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmXmq8tsTjI/AAAAAAAAAb0/QDytw-kNMGQ/s400/spanish.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072714180829400626" border="0" /></a>People tell me all the time “You really oughta learn Spanish. It would really help you out.” And, yes, if I wanted to concede defeat to Spanish-only speakers and attempt to assimilate into their culture instead of the other way around, I would probably make more of an effort to speak it. As anyone who knows me is well aware, I speak pretty passable Spanish. When I am in a Spanish speaking country, out of respect for their native culture, I will bust it out readily. Also, if I need it to get on a highly rated Spanish-language TV show. Otherwise, I expect people who move to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> to learn English. So I will not make life any easier for them by speaking to them in their native tongue. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is the same approach I take to environmental concerns. Think Globally, Act Locally. So I recycle, conserve energy when I can, return my hangars to the dry cleaners and donate old clothes to charity. Does my behavior change the world? Not individually, but each person must do what they can to not contribute to an overall problem. So while I understand that my not speaking Spanish in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> will not force immigrants to learn the language, I also understand it is one thing I can do to help solve a problem that really irritates me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those of you who tell me there is nothing you can do to fight the dominance of Latin culture in <st1:place st="on">South Florida</st1:place> are wrong. There are things you can do as an individual. If more Americans, and I’m not just talking about white people but blacks and assimilated Hispanics too, refused to speak Spanish then people would be forced to learn. Am I going all Tom Tancredo and trying to force large-scale governmental change? No. In a city whose two mayors are named Alvarez and Diaz that is certainly a losing battle. (Although I guarantee if no government services were available in any language other than English it would go a long way to forcing people to learn). But I am doing all that one man can do. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is a small effort it a probably losing battle, but much like telling one who does not like a particular TV show to simply shut it off rather than write their congressman, I am shutting off Spanish. I am exercising my freedom to not speak to anyone in a language other than English. This is not an immigration issue, but a language issue. Legal, illegal or otherwise, being able to communicate with those already here should be a prerequisite for anyone wanting to enter the country. So I am thinking globally and acting locally. Maybe some of you should do the same.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/why-i-dont-speak-spanish.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-8150286052473978631Mon, 04 Jun 2007 19:41:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:53.830-05:00BaseballDatingdouchebag guysLAMiamiThe Douchebag Checklist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRsAE9kjCI/AAAAAAAAAbs/FKGxQvNsIsw/s1600-h/checklist.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRsAE9kjCI/AAAAAAAAAbs/FKGxQvNsIsw/s400/checklist.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297828913810466" border="0" /></a>I write a lot about douchebag guys on this site. And no doubt the vast, vast majority of you dudes out there reading this see that description and go “No way. That’s DEFINITELY not me. I’m a cool guy who gets ass without looking like an idiot to everyone else. But boy are those guys White Dade is talking about a bunch of jagoffs!” Hey Bro, look up. Chances are I am talking about you. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>As a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRr8U9kjBI/AAAAAAAAAbk/L7065e2WXqM/s1600-h/Lame+ass.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRr8U9kjBI/AAAAAAAAAbk/L7065e2WXqM/s400/Lame+ass.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297764489301010" border="0" /></a> veteran of nightlife in two of the douchebag capitals of <st1:country-region st="on">America</st1:country-region>, Southern California and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miam</st1:place></st1:city><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">i</st1:place></st1:city>, I’ve seen a lot. Generally I will be sitting at a bar, or sometimes a restaurant, the gym or a baseball game, and be listening to a guy spit his pathetic “game” and begin to predict what he will start talking about next as I check them off mentally in my mind. It is almost comical how, once the first douchebag move is made, I can accurately predict the rest of his comments for the duration of the evening. Here, friends, is<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrwk9kjAI/AAAAAAAAAbc/vX2Pv6clU3Y/s1600-h/striped+shirt.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrwk9kjAI/AAAAAAAAAbc/vX2Pv6clU3Y/s400/striped+shirt.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297562625838082" border="0" /></a> generally what to look for to ascertain whether or not you are, in fact, a douchebag.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I wearing a striped shirt?</span> I know this is cliché, but you rarely see douchebags going out in a plain T-Shirt and jeans. Or gym clothes, as I prefer.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I trying to impress you with something nearby?</span> As in “Hey, look at me, I am so worthy of sleeping with, I have my very own TABLE at this moderately-overpriced club! A TABLE! I know you can buy one at Target for $5.99, but I have one HERE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrrU9ki_I/AAAAAAAAAbU/uT4xxD0QZYM/s1600-h/VIP.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrrU9ki_I/AAAAAAAAAbU/uT4xxD0QZYM/s400/VIP.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297472431524850" border="0" /></a>! Just like the other 87 ‘VIP’s in this club! Wanna come back three with me and then have sex?” It can also include improved seats at a sporting event (and I blame no girl for taking advantage of this, but for the love of God never sleep with a man who gets you 27 rows behind third base), a table at a restaurant or, if you’re really classy, bumped to the front of the karaoke line.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I promising to help her career?</span> Oh, you’re a bartender? Well my friend Rick owns (fill in well-known trendy club here), I can get you a job there if you want. You can make like 500-1000 a night. Just call me tomorrow.” This is what guys use in cities that are not LA. In LA it is even more disgusting as apparently, and I was not aware of this tactic, but apparently all the top producers in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city> send their slightly balding twentysomething friends to hotel bar-lounges to scope out new talent. And wouldn’t you know it, every girl in there is “perfect for Steven’s new project.” I not sure how every girl who gives one of this guys a blowjob in the men’s room isn’t living in Malibu yet.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I dropping names?</span> I used to go with my then-girlfriend to the aforementio<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrjE9ki-I/AAAAAAAAAbM/Tk0hMLfyjCY/s1600-h/Tartakoff.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrjE9ki-I/AAAAAAAAAbM/Tk0hMLfyjCY/s400/Tartakoff.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297330697604066" border="0" /></a>ned <st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place> hotel lounges and listen to the absolutely ludicrous bullshit spewed by some guys. Until then, I had no idea Jerry Bruckheimer was doing projects with so many people. Nor was I aware that Babyface made records with dorky white guys. My favorite was a guy who told a girl he was working with Brandon Tartikoff trying to develop a show. A good year after he died. But it can be even more pathetic, trying to drop names of Club Promoters, DJ’s, D-List celebrities that are shooting a movie in town, or anyone else you may have shared an elevator with once 9 years ago. </li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have I mentioned what kind of car I drive? </span>This, of course, applies only if <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrdE9ki9I/AAAAAAAAAbE/ZRcsYtD3Iqc/s1600-h/porsche.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrdE9ki9I/AAAAAAAAAbE/ZRcsYtD3Iqc/s400/porsche.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297227618388946" border="0" /></a>you drive a car that you think impresses women. If you drive a Saturn, it’s funny. If you drive a Porsche, you are a douchebag.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have I mentioned my salary?</span> This really should be item #1. Any guy with any confidence knows he never has to mention his income to get laid. </li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have I bragged about anything?</span> Included in the first two, if you talk about your awesome apartment, your cool friends or your high-powered job, or anything else you think is impressive, you are a douchebag. Most girls I know find bragging to be a turnoff on par with talking excessively about your mother. Most are not impressed by what you do or what you have, but by how you act. You can be confident without telling people<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrWU9ki8I/AAAAAAAAAa8/SbOBJ56I4jc/s1600-h/money.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrWU9ki8I/AAAAAAAAAa8/SbOBJ56I4jc/s400/money.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072297111654271938" border="0" /></a> that you are.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I feigning modesty?</span> Bragging about something and then apologizing for it is still wanton dougebaggerey. As in “Yeah, I mean I kinda make like $200,000 a year. I don’t know why they pay me so much, it’s a job I’d do for fun. But, hey. Who’s gonna turn down money. Would you like another Belevedere Cosmo?” Never mentioning it at all is modesty. </li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My point <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrPU9ki7I/AAAAAAAAAa0/HjxJnWEaMJI/s1600-h/big+ears.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RmRrPU9ki7I/AAAAAAAAAa0/HjxJnWEaMJI/s400/big+ears.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072296991395187634" border="0" /></a>today is this: If you are trying to get laid, get a girls’ number or maybe just trying to pique her interest, TALK AS LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF AS POSSIBLE. This not only makes you attentive and a good listener (even if you forget every word she says, including her name) but it gives you an aura of mystery. And, most importantly, you do not look like a pathetic douchebag trying to get laid and will not incur the mockery of guys like me and whatever girl I’m with that I’m sure you would sadly try and impress with little success were I not around. Or if I got up to get a drink. <span style=""> </span>So keep your mouth shut, guys. You’ll be surprised trying to be unimpressive will get you.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/06/douchebag-checklist_04.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-3657530230761292899Tue, 29 May 2007 21:28:00 +00002007-05-29T16:34:50.340-05:00AbortionSexA Pro-Lifer is Just a Pro-Choicer Who Hasn't Gotten Knocked Up YetThere is an old expression that a Republican is just a Democrat who hasn’t been arrested yet. I don’t really believe this as you can point to a good number of people form G. Gordon Liddy to a good friend of mine and find staunch Republicans who still maintain their conservative politics even after spending some time behind bars. But one thing I will say: Any girl who is pro-life and planning a career who gets knocked up a little early changes her tune pretty damn quick.<br /><br />Now I have made my thoughts on abortion pretty well-known on this site before. I think people don’t have enough of them, as any early morning viewing of Maury Povich will easily demonstrate. But my intense dislike of children aside, I really do think people who are not prepared to have kids in all facets of life should just admit their mistakes and get rid of the damn thing. Sadly, there are a lot of sad ideologues out there who just don’t seem to get this point. They are caught up in some religious nonsense and maintain that once a child is conceived, it is a human life and ending it is therefore murder.<br /><br />That is, of course, until that human life interferes with their plans. I knew a girl a while back who grew up in a hard-core right wing environment. So much so that she had written letters to her local congresswoman urging her to fight to end legalized abortion. This, might I add, was in a solid blue state. At any rate, this girl despite her lack of common sense when it came to overpopulation, was a very intelligent, driven young woman with ambitious career plans. Then she had a pregnancy scare. Like a serious, realistic pregnancy scare where it seemed much more likely than not she was knocked up than not. And you know what she said? “Well, I mean, I CAN’T have a kid now. I work so much and I still have so much I want to accomplish, it just wouldn’t work for me.” No shit.<br /><br />So it’s okay to sit on our moral high horse and talk about the evils of abortion and why poor black mothers in the ghetto should keep children they can’t afford so they can collect welfare and make the rest of us pay for them, but when you get a little caught up in the heat of the moment and don’t use protection you are more than ready to utilize the services of your local “Doctor of Death,” as your church members like to call them. Yeah, it’s only wrong when it’s someone else’s life being ruined, not yours. Awesome. How about all of you opposed to abortion pay for the raising, schooling and ultimate jailing of these “precious, innocent gifts from God” while the rest of us spend our tax money on useful things. Like the War in Iraq.<br /><br />It is not to say that left-wingers don’t have their contradictions too. Anyone who looks at how much money Hillary Clinton gets from Pharmaceutical companies can see that, but when it comes to abortion nobody is more hypocritical that the right-to-tell-you-what-to-do-ers. Basically, abortion is wrong unless it interferes with their life. It’s immoral so long as it doesn’t interfere with their career. Wrong. It is a useful tool that most developed countries not blinded by religious nonsense realize is good for society. It’s just sad that it takes an unwanted pregnancy to make a lot of people realize that.http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/pro-lifer-is-just-pro-choicer-who-hasnt.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-2307918975089586807Wed, 23 May 2007 16:20:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:54.363-05:00MiamirelocationWritingDon't be Scur'd...It's Just Miami<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlRr_E9ki6I/AAAAAAAAAas/CVSV08BKLiQ/s1600-h/Miami.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlRr_E9ki6I/AAAAAAAAAas/CVSV08BKLiQ/s400/Miami.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067794212106570658" border="0" /></a>A lot of people think about moving to Miami. I was once one of them. But a good number, and I'm not sure what the exact statistics on this are, but a good number of Americans who try and relocate to Dade last about six months and then hightail it out. They, like so many, think we're basically LA with humidity or New York with Palm Trees and assume life here is somehow easier than it is wherever they come from just because you don't have to deal with snow and ice. And while this may be true for some, it is definitely not the case for all. So, in an effo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlRr609ki5I/AAAAAAAAAak/WxkpO_l1_t4/s1600-h/help-moving.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlRr609ki5I/AAAAAAAAAak/WxkpO_l1_t4/s400/help-moving.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067794139092126610" border="0" /></a>rt to save a lot of Americans moving expenses, I decided to let them know exactly what they were in for ahead of time. So I present to you...<br /><br /><li><a href="http://www.miamibeach411.com/news/miami-relocation-guide.htm">THE MIAMI RELOCATION GUIDE</a></li><br /><br />Now, as I do from time to time, there may be some slight exaggeration for comedic effect as to the cond<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlRr2U9ki4I/AAAAAAAAAac/F8-AIFSR8J0/s1600-h/mayflower.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlRr2U9ki4I/AAAAAAAAAac/F8-AIFSR8J0/s400/mayflower.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067794061782715266" border="0" /></a>ition of this city, its inhabitants and its drivers. But this sem-encompassing guide lets the prospective new Miamian know where they should consider moving, how to look for work, how to drive and how to make friends. At least from my experience. The point of the guide is not to frighten people to death, but just to let them know that Miami isn't for everybody. So know what you are in for before you pack the Mayflower vans.http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/dont-be-scurdits-just-miami.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-4213281270214680333Mon, 21 May 2007 21:10:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:55.179-05:00alcoholDo We Do Anything Sober?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILn09ki3I/AAAAAAAAAaU/aPWJ1gHMMmk/s1600-h/basketball.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILn09ki3I/AAAAAAAAAaU/aPWJ1gHMMmk/s400/basketball.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067125309604924274" border="0" /></a>When we were younger, there were a lot of activities to fill our days. This was in the era before lightning-fast internet. Before we could waste away our days in chatrooms and flirting with old people. Before video game systems with microchips that could guide nuclear missiles and before 900 cable TV channels. So we had to find other stuff to do. We played sports, we watched sports on TV, occasionally we would go to the mall or see a movie. Or maybe we would just drive around aimlessly looking for something fun to do. And, for many of us anyway, we managed to do it all sober. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then somewhere along the line we discovered alcohol as a fun way to occupy our e<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILh09ki2I/AAAAAAAAAaM/9UyhBOwSXS8/s1600-h/shots.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILh09ki2I/AAAAAAAAAaM/9UyhBOwSXS8/s400/shots.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067125206525709154" border="0" /></a>venings. Then evenings turned into afternoons and then in college we discovered the revolutionary concept of Beer for Breakfast. And while the 24-hour binge drinking days are now reserved for national holidays and breakups, it has become painfully obvious to me that things we used to do on their own now ALL involve alcohol.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t recall once after school in 6<sup>th</sup> Grade saying “Hey, Dan, lets go to Bryant Park and<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILVE9ki1I/AAAAAAAAAaE/Uew6G2H606Y/s1600-h/12+pack.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILVE9ki1I/AAAAAAAAAaE/Uew6G2H606Y/s400/12+pack.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067124987482377042" border="0" /></a> play some ball. But first let me stop off and grab a 12-pack at Albertson’s. You know I can’t shoot sober.” Or those rec-league softball games. I would be hard pressed to find a dugout without beer these days, how did we ever manage? Going to see “Snakes on a Plane?” Well, now instead of sneaking Joey and Bobby in through the Exit door, you’re sneaking Jack and Johnny in through a well-concealed flask. Even aimless driving now seems to be done with the aid of alcohol, albeit usually on accident.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Or say a friend invites you over to watch the big game on his new TV? You are <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILRE9ki0I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/OhfLtP-gtMs/s1600-h/wine.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILRE9ki0I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/OhfLtP-gtMs/s400/wine.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067124918762900290" border="0" /></a>actually RUDE if you don’t bring some sort of intoxicating beverage. Cooking dinner? You’d better have the right type of wine to go with it. How about going to watch sports live? Remember all those drunken assholes who used to ruin the game for you when you were a kid? Guess who those drunken assholes are now? Oh, how the tables have turned. And don’t even talk about going out at night. There are the odd occasions when you go and do something that does not involve drinking at this age, but those are usually nights you spend with relatives over 70 or under 12. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I suppose there comes a time later on, and I have no idea when it is because I know ple<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILME9kizI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/hfltYPcByJg/s1600-h/softball.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILME9kizI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/hfltYPcByJg/s400/softball.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067124832863554354" border="0" /></a>nty of people in their thirties who drink at every social occasion, when life stops revolving around booze. And maybe not in the get-hammered-as-soon-as-I-get-home way, but more in the “Let’s get fucked up and go do this,” sort of way. <span style=""> </span>I don’t know that marriage stops it either, because plenty of couple I know enjoy a good sloshing as much as their single friends. So this makes it hard if you ever want to stop drinking. Because if alcohol is not ruining your life, which is the case for most of us, their really isn’t much incentive to stop. And when every social interaction you have is usually accompanied by a cold fermented beverage, well, how does one even know when to start stopping?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is i<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILGU9kiyI/AAAAAAAAAZs/iy_CEO7Cb5M/s1600-h/keg+sleep.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RlILGU9kiyI/AAAAAAAAAZs/iy_CEO7Cb5M/s400/keg+sleep.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067124734079306530" border="0" /></a>t a sad commentary on the young people of today that we must include alcohol in everything we do? Things you never even used to associate with alcohol and now big booze-fests. Drunk Chess? Really? You can do that? Or does it just add to the endless perpetuation of stories that are the ages of 18-34? Hard to say, but I do know one thing: Try as you might to stop drinking, it is harder now than it will be at any other age. Because now when you stop you feel like you are missing out on something, where as later on, it is probably the other way around.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/do-we-do-anything-sober.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-8593011055642067337Fri, 18 May 2007 17:11:00 +00002007-05-18T12:12:47.000-05:00Anal SexSexAsking for Anal<p class="MsoNormal">There are some things I just assume people know about sex. Don’t finish in under 5 minutes. Don’t squeeze anything too hard. Don’t hold a girl’s head down while she’s giving you oral. You know, common sense shit that any guy who was ever forced to read one issue of Cosmo (or, you know, maybe had his own subscription) worth his salt in bed knows. But apparently one of the golden rules of sex is not known to as many guys as I though, and that is that you never put it in a girl’s ass unless you have permission.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now I know that a lot of the modern-day rape laws require this of normal intercourse too, but that really does tend to dampen the mood. “Before I do this, I need to know that, yes, definitely, you want my penis inside you at this point. Otherwise I cannot legally continue.” And while most people have the sense to know when you have the proverbial green light when it comes to traditional sex, anal is a much touchier subject. While there are a good number of girls who are open to it, very few will just let you put it in without any prior conversation. Even drunk. If you try, you can typically expect a reaction somewhere between a quick pull away and a furious tirade that results in her grabbing her clothes, storming out the door, and talking shit about what a rude pervert you are to every girl in a ten mile radius. What I’m saying, gents, is it is not a good idea.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The problem, of course, is there are very few women out there who will just flat-out ask for it in the ass (but, oh, those ones who do). So it is hard, and a little intimidating, to gain consent for ass-sex without feeling like a dirty pervert. Then again, you probably are. Typically if the girl is someone you are dating, you have some sort of conversation about anal sex, be it a funny anecdote a friend may have told you, a porn you are watching, or maybe just something that comes up in the course of sexual conversation. However the topic is breeched, you must at some point learn what kind of locks she has on the back door before you try to break in. If she is down for it, then you can feel free to ask her during a subsequent encounter as it probably doesn’t even seem unreasonable at that point. And she may not say yes that first time, but don’t be discouraged: If she is into anal, at some point she will say yes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the one-night stand or fuck-buddy scenario, a simple fingering of that particular area followed by a “I want to fuck you in the ass” is fine. The worst the girl will say is no, and the times I have been rejected from this particular act were not exactly ego-shattering. If you think about it, it can be construed as a compliment. The point is, while there aren’t a plethora of girls who will say yes, they are typically not turned off by the request and are more than happy to continue fucking the way god intended. And it is DEFINITELY preferable to an uninvited anal attempt.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, gents, the next time you are thinking you’d like to go back door on a girl, make sure you ask her first. Usually it requires some sort of lubrication and, shall we say, preparation of the orifice, and I don’t think there has ever been a girl who wasn’t a little surprised when you try and go in the other hole without mentioning it. Call it consideration, call it being good in bed, or just call it an offsetting to your perversion, but if you want anal you’d better make sure she does to. Or, as it is in most cases, is at least willing to do it.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/asking-for-anal.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-8169626591998500714Thu, 17 May 2007 20:52:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:55.968-05:00Bar EtiquetteHispanicsMiamiLemme Get......<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBo09kiwI/AAAAAAAAAZc/6x3ajmF0j7c/s1600-h/McDonalds.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBo09kiwI/AAAAAAAAAZc/6x3ajmF0j7c/s400/McDonalds.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065636588040784642" border="0" /></a>Those of you living outside of <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Metropolitan</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Dade</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>, when you go into a store or a bar or a fast-food establishment and you want to order, what do you say? Perhaps you start the sentence with “I’d like a #4 with no pickles.” Or maybe you are more polite and say “Can I have two Bud Lights and a Vodka Tonic?” The extremely well-mannered among you might say “Can I please have five beef chalupas with extra cheese?” This is true in nearly every major city I have been to in <st1:country-region st="on">America</st1:country-region>, not just <st1:city st="on">Seattle</st1:city> or <st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype>, but even some of the “ruder” ones like <st1:state st="on">New York</st1:state> or <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Detroit</st1:place></st1:city>. And then I forget that <st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city> is not part of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you want something from someone in any type of establishment in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Dade</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>, the on<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBkE9kivI/AAAAAAAAAZU/D6xNmCn6dmU/s1600-h/drink+order.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBkE9kivI/AAAAAAAAAZU/D6xNmCn6dmU/s400/drink+order.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065636506436406002" border="0" /></a>ly acceptable way to ask for it is to say “Lemme Get.” As in “Yeah, lemme a six-inch steak and cheese on honey-oat, toasted. And lemme get some onions, a little lettuce, some mayo, oh and lemme get some of those jalapenos too.” I’m not exactly sure why this is, and it is a phenomenon I just recently began to notice. It started when I began working at the bar where I am now employed, and it began to irritate me a little. “Yeah, lemme get two Johnny Black on the rocks, a Vodka Tonic, and two <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Blue</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Long</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Islands</st1:placetype></st1:place>. And lemme get a cup of water. No ice. With a lemon. Oh, no, sorry, I mean a lime” Excuse me? “Lemme get?” Yeah, how about lemme get someone else’s order who knows how to ask for something. Or, better yet, lemme get a dec<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBrU9kixI/AAAAAAAAAZk/cgp3ucxZwzQ/s1600-h/Waiter+takes+order.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBrU9kixI/AAAAAAAAAZk/cgp3ucxZwzQ/s400/Waiter+takes+order.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065636630990457618" border="0" /></a>ent tip before you start ordering me around like your errand boy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At first I thought this inherent rudeness was exclusive to the gutter trash that patronizes my bar. But apparently this was not the case. Soon I started noticing it when I went to lunch, ate at a restaurant or even just at the Publix Deli Counter. Everyone who asks for anything in English prefaces it with “Lemme Get.” No wonder people think we are so rude.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I tend to like to do with most problems in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city>, I tried to trace the root of this back to Hispanics. But no such luck. In Spanish, if you want something, generally you preface it with “Da me” which, directly translated, means “give me.” While not exactly wallowing in politeness, it is certainly a lot nicer than “Lemme get.” Similarly, it is not just the<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBcE9kiuI/AAAAAAAAAZM/rfG_6Av3KZI/s1600-h/hispanics.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBcE9kiuI/AAAAAAAAAZM/rfG_6Av3KZI/s400/hispanics.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065636368997452514" border="0" /></a> Latinos telling people to lettem get stuff. Whites are just as bad, as are blacks as are Asians. Well, if we had Asians. I’m not sure if it’s just contagious like the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city> accent or if it’s just a regional colloquialism or what, but for some reason nobody in this city knows how to ask for anything. The just want to lemme get it. So while I would love to blame this rude phenomenon on my favorite <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Dade</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> inhabitants, unfortunately it looks like something or someone else is to blame.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve tried to start going into establishments and telling them to let me get things, but it just isn’t natural. I’m a West Coast native and if you say that out there you are more than likely going to get your food spit in. While I understand a good two-thirds of people taking my order p<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBWU9kitI/AAAAAAAAAZE/qgXoHyCP1AM/s1600-h/smiling.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkzBWU9kitI/AAAAAAAAAZE/qgXoHyCP1AM/s400/smiling.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065636270213204690" border="0" /></a>robably don’t even understand exactly what “Lemme Get” means, I still feel like I’m being rude and condescending by allowing it to preface my order. Perhaps that is part of the reason service in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city> is so awful: the customers are awful too. I know I’m not in a hurry to serve anyone who tells me to “Lemme get,” so I’m pretty sure nobody else is either. I catch myself doing it occasionally, usually after work when I’ve heard it 700 times over the course of the night, but I make a concerted effort to stop. Just lemme get a pass on this once and I promise it won’t happen again.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/lemme-get.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-2267949753648799903Tue, 15 May 2007 22:10:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:57.214-05:00BloggingWritingBad Writers Ruin it for Everyone Else<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkoxERpg0MI/AAAAAAAAAY8/RzU8nQnt6A0/s1600-h/writer.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkoxERpg0MI/AAAAAAAAAY8/RzU8nQnt6A0/s400/writer.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064914680458301634" border="0" /></a>There are a lot of people out there who want to be writers. I mean a lot. Dare I say more than want to be actors, singers and professional athletes combined. This may partly be because there are a lot of media which employ writers, so some may want to be print journalists while others want to be screenwriters. But I think the main reason is because everyone and their mother thinks they can write. Go to LA and I guarantee your Taxi driver has a screenplay. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I mean shit, there’s a lot of pure dreck that gets produced these days and a ton of people<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkoxAhpg0LI/AAAAAAAAAY0/TUC9w9rVo10/s1600-h/Gringo.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkoxAhpg0LI/AAAAAAAAAY0/TUC9w9rVo10/s400/Gringo.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064914616033792178" border="0" /></a> probably say “I can do better then that!” And sometimes you can. But most times you can’t. Most times you sit at your computer and pound out stuff that reads well to you, your mother, the old people you read it to during your community service hours and maybe your dog. Although he probably is just barking because you need to take him for a walk. But to everyone else, it pretty much sounds like a bad 11<sup>th</sup> grade English project. Unfortunately, what this venerable glut of bad writers does is ruin it for the truly talented.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rkow8Bpg0KI/AAAAAAAAAYs/nGIlSWRWodw/s1600-h/Columbia.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rkow8Bpg0KI/AAAAAAAAAYs/nGIlSWRWodw/s400/Columbia.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064914538724380834" border="0" /></a> before everyone jumps on me for being conceited, no I am not explicitly calling myself truly talented. Do I have a well-read blog that I did nothing to promote? Yes. Am I regularly approached by people asking me to write stuff for them for money? Yes. Did I write my way into the Columbia School of Journalism with a 3.2 GPA, passable GRE scores and no professional experience? Yes, but I’m not going. It’s a lot of money. I’m not making any opinionated statements here. Just some facts. There are people out there who are better, some who don’t write anything but virulent emails. But I have had a decent amount of success for someone who has not done anything to pursue it. But enough about me, on to the bad writers….</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What happens is that this plethora of shitty scribes send their God-awful efforts to<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rkow1xpg0JI/AAAAAAAAAYk/fIkmLgapETE/s1600-h/flower.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/Rkow1xpg0JI/AAAAAAAAAYk/fIkmLgapETE/s400/flower.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064914431350198418" border="0" /></a> publishers, producers, editors or anyone else they think might like it. And so said decision maker gets stuck with a steaming pile of shit on his desk. Then along comes a real piece of gold but sadly it is burined under this pile of shit and never gets read. And this, friends, is how so much crap gets produced. They simply don’t have time to read the good stuff.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkowvRpg0II/AAAAAAAAAYc/wE5ZE0vbLtw/s1600-h/simon.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkowvRpg0II/AAAAAAAAAYc/wE5ZE0vbLtw/s400/simon.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064914319681048706" border="0" /></a>The sad part is most of these talentless should really do think they have what it takes to succeed. Crap like drive, determination and a dream. No, successful writing takes only two things: Voice and Talent. If you don’t have both, quit now and let those who do have it get your face time. There are 37 million blogs out there and about 9 of them are readable. The sad part is it is a lot of these people’s dream to be a writer. It is their life’s work and it is a sad thing when your dream is just something you are not very good at. We see this every year on the first five episodes of American Idol, but sadly there is no such public weeding-out process for bad writers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even some who have had success are terrible. I had the occasion to read the Opus of a Mia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkowlRpg0HI/AAAAAAAAAYU/Yio6PG4X0Ac/s1600-h/fruit+fly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkowlRpg0HI/AAAAAAAAAYU/Yio6PG4X0Ac/s400/fruit+fly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064914147882356850" border="0" /></a>mi Herald columnist who shall remain nameless and it was, by far, the biggest waste of half an hour I have experienced this year. And I watch a lot of Jerry Springer. It was, for lack of a better phrase, painful to read. As I scanned this sad effort, I put my sarcastic responses to his excessive and un-understandable metaphors in red for someone else’s amusement. It then dawned on me that this guy had put his heart and soul into what I was reading, his life and dreams. And even though he was a successful columnist this was his proudest work. And it was God fucking awful.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkowWRpg0GI/AAAAAAAAAYM/wE733cpqno4/s1600-h/Law+school.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkowWRpg0GI/AAAAAAAAAYM/wE733cpqno4/s400/Law+school.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064913890184319074" border="0" /></a>My point in using this guy as an example is this: It is all well and good to follow your dreams. But when your pursuit of your dream is keeping the truly talented from success, you are actually harming the rest of the world be trying to be “determined.” You are diluting the talent pool and a detriment to society. If you have been working at it for a long time and seen no success, maybe the world is trying to tell you something. Maybe its just not your niche. Try law school. That’s what everyone else does.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/bad-writers-ruin-it-for-everyone-else.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-6253918229027019941Thu, 10 May 2007 04:47:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:58.280-05:00HispanicsRacismIf I'm a Gringo, Then You're a Spic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkhxpg0FI/AAAAAAAAAYE/C3fBEp7GbeA/s1600-h/Spanish+Racists.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkhxpg0FI/AAAAAAAAAYE/C3fBEp7GbeA/s400/Spanish+Racists.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062789831287951442" border="0" /></a>You know, a lot of people like to call me a racist. I have no idea why, I don’t typically judge people based solely on their race. Typically they have to open their mouths before I start to dislike them. But it seems that one particular ethnic group likes to accuse me of being a blatant racist more than anyone else, and that ethnic group just so happens to be Hispanics. Which is funny, because from what I can tell there is not a single more politically incorrect group of people around than them. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">First off, let’s take the incessant use of the word “Gringo.” That’s a rather derogatory term for a White person, isn’t it? It carries with it a connotation of blandness, corniness, lack of danci<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkdRpg0EI/AAAAAAAAAX8/WYQ6hv0A3eE/s1600-h/Gringo+Wedding.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkdRpg0EI/AAAAAAAAAX8/WYQ6hv0A3eE/s400/Gringo+Wedding.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062789753978540098" border="0" /></a>ng ability and probably sexual dysfunction if you ask the right people. And yet the term is used so blatantly there are even movies out with “Gringo” in the title. Let me tell you, if I made a film about an interracial marriage and called it “Spic Wedding” I would be sued, lynched, fired and held up as a hero by most of Fox News. But use “Gringo” and for some reason it’s funny. No, no, not so much to me. It’s actually pretty fucking offensive and I think every time a Hispanic refers to me as such I will from then on refer to them as a Spic.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">An<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkZxpg0DI/AAAAAAAAAX0/DIZa3WlSxYc/s1600-h/He+Sop.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkZxpg0DI/AAAAAAAAAX0/DIZa3WlSxYc/s400/He+Sop.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062789693848997938" border="0" /></a>d is there one Asian guy in Miami NOT named “<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Chino</st1:place></st1:city>?” It’s funny, you know, call a Cuban a Mexican and its like you called his mother a whore. But apparently every guy with slanty eyes who gets red when he drinks is Chinese to a Latin. So to my Asian friends out there, next time some Hispanic calls you chino, just call him “Mexicano” and see how he likes it. If he tries to correct you, politely inform him that your assessment of him is about as accurate as his is of you, and if he’d like to not be referred to as an ethnicity he is not, he should try doing the s<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkVRpg0CI/AAAAAAAAAXs/rrk4Xb6JUjQ/s1600-h/Trick.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkVRpg0CI/AAAAAAAAAXs/rrk4Xb6JUjQ/s400/Trick.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062789616539586594" border="0" /></a>ame.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Similarly, any black guy in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city> is referred to as “Negro.” If he’s lucky. Wait for your Cuban daughter to bring home a black man, and see what Papi says. Or, worse, call a dark-skinned Hispanic “Negro” and see if they don’t beat you senseless. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My po<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkRhpg0BI/AAAAAAAAAXk/c0mvS1U9htg/s1600-h/sombreros.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkRhpg0BI/AAAAAAAAAXk/c0mvS1U9htg/s400/sombreros.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062789552115077138" border="0" /></a>int here is not necessarily to say that Hispanic people are racist, just that they are far more politically incorrect than I am. In fact, most of their daily vocabulary makes me look downright diplomatic. So, Hispanic America, if you want me and others to stop ripping on you and stop lumping you all together as Mexicans, try doing the same yourself. I am not a Gringo any more than you are a Spic. My boy Tuan Tran is no more Chinese than you are Mexican. And that black guy over there probably doesn’t want to be called the Spanish equivalent of “Darky” all day long. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I have stated before, the double standard of racism in our culture is absolutely ridicu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkIRpg0AI/AAAAAAAAAXc/X24glBrKTJQ/s1600-h/Adios.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RkKkIRpg0AI/AAAAAAAAAXc/X24glBrKTJQ/s400/Adios.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062789393201287170" border="0" /></a>lous. You can say pretty much whatever you want about white people but can’t even refer to the bad hair of minorities without losing your job. But in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city>, I AM the minority in every sense of the word and as such I want the majority to start being held accountable for not being sensitive enough in their speech. Just because I am too. So the next time you hear someone call you a gringo, flip out and lose your shit like every other minority does when they hear you using an ethnic slur. If nothing else, it should give them pause about the blatant offensiveness of their daily vernacular.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/if-im-gringo-then-youre-spic.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-2618689522073564892Tue, 08 May 2007 06:02:00 +00002007-05-08T01:02:32.127-05:00We're Not Working More, We're Fucking Off More<p class="MsoNormal">I hear people bitch all the time about how everyone is working longer hours and in the office so much and has no time for themselves and blah blah blah. Wa, wa, wa. And while it may be true that folks are spending more and more time in the office, and less and less time at home, I would not call what people are doing more “working.” What they are doing more of is fucking off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lets face it: I am guessing at least half of you reading this right now are on the clock. And I truly appreciate you taking your paid time to read my daily rantings and ravings. But that being said if you did not spend so much time reading my blog, and other blogs, and MSNBC.com, and ESPN.com, and whatever other non-work related link you have under that “favorites” tab, you could probably be home in time to catch Dr. Phil. But as it is, you have fantasy teams to update, celebrity gossip to read, airline tickets to book and bills to pay. So you should be checking out around 7:30.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is not to mention the various personal phone calls that you need to make or idle office chit chat you will have with coworkers to kill time. Part of this blame falls on employers, as there are some managers who insist you stay at a job for nine hours when you only have enough work to fill four. Of course, if you make that known to them, they may cut your time or, even worse, realize you are expendable and lay you or your buddy off. So you find things to do to fill your day so that you can justify your existence. But we all know the most important client file you have on your desk is called “Minesweepr.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am of the firm belief that if everyone came to work, worked straight through save for a lunch break and maybe a couple of coffee breaks, and went home we could survive working three days a week. Or maybe just five hour days every day. Either way, efficiency could replace long hours and most of us wouldn’t miss a beat. Yes, I understand there are jobs that require more effort, but a lot of them do not and you know goddam well who you are. Sadly, American culture is such that we value working to excess and so we must find ways to fill our time so we all look busy and productive. No wonder so many in the workforce are miserable.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cut out the internet surfing and you can spend more time at the gym. Don’t surf the web for airline deals at the office and you might be able to catch your kids before they go to bed. Stop calling every friend you had in college and maybe you could get more than two fucking weeks off a year (perhaps the biggest injustice in the American work system). This is one of the many reasons I’m glad I work a whopping 2 days a week, that I can have more of my own time than most people I know. And I am lucky for that. But the fact is I think if employers just started making office time project-based rather than time-based, companies would become more efficient, they would lose less money on wasted internet and phone time, and people would be happier because they would spend less time at work. But for now, if your asshole boss is making you stay until 6:30, check out my archives on the right. Those should get you to at least lunch.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/were-not-working-more-were-fucking-off.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-7625244110569008356Fri, 04 May 2007 16:39:00 +00002007-05-04T11:39:48.359-05:00Gyms are Kinda Silly if You Think About It<p class="MsoNormal">It occurred to me the other day as I was in the gym that the whole concept of going to a gym to work out is a little odd, isn’t it? Not that I don’t love going, but the body, either human or otherwise, is set up to intake energy in the form of food in order to support its daily activities. If you are, say, a wildebeest or something these activities include running around a plain or savannah or polar ice cap or whatever and you intake food as needed by killing your prey. The point is, they don’t really tend to get fat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Look at ancient history. There were no rooms with heavy rocks meant to be lifted and replaced in ancient <st1:place st="on">Mesopotamia</st1:place>. The Greeks weren’t developing machines that allowed you to pretend you were walking stairs. Most of the people who were not rich had ridiculous amounts of physical labor to do and many went hungry. Though the agricultural revolution made it possible to provide enough food for everybody, I think you would be hard pressed to find a Spartan complaining about excessive portion size.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so we arrive in 21<sup>st</sup> Century <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>. We are the first society, thanks to a lot of things, to have such an overabundance of food that we must find ways to burn the extra energy in order to stay healthy. We must invent pointless work to do in order to make sure we do not die early. What a strange, strange concept this would be to someone from a civilization of centuries past. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Could you imagine someone from, oh, say, the <st1:place st="on">Persian Empire</st1:place> time traveling and showing up at a Bally’s in LA? “So, let me get this straight: You pick up that circular rock over there, lift it repeatedly over and over again for no reason, and put it right back where you found it. Then you go over to that machine over there and run as fast as you can, making sure you go absolutely nowhere? Then you finish off by sitting up then lying back down over and over and over again? And YOU pay HIM for the right to lift his circular rocks? What the Hell is wrong with you people?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s true. What the hell is wrong with us? We have gotten so good a preserving our physical energy insofar as machines do the bulk of the work we used to, that most of us do not have to expend any energy aside from walking to and from our cars. And we have gotten so good at massive food production that there is now too much food and we must either consciously limit our consumption or find new and inventive ways of burning it off that have absolutely nothing to do with our vocation in life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I love <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and the obesity thing is no longer exclusive to us. But I do believe we were the pioneers. So while it is certainly a pressing issue in this country, it is pretty funny to sit back and think about the problems of societies past, and think that our main problem is that we do not physically work hard enough and get too much food. So much so that we now pay people to tell us how to eat less and work harder. Back in the day, those people were called slave drivers. Now they need advanced degrees. We pay people for the right to lift their weight and run in one place. Awfully silly if you think about it. But I guess we do what we can. I am off to burn off some excessive energy intake now, and I suggest the rest of you do the same. Lest you end up looking like some 15<sup>th</sup> century nobility.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/gyms-are-kinda-silly-if-you-think-about.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18768223.post-5350154924998161940Thu, 03 May 2007 20:49:00 +00002008-11-13T03:30:59.884-05:00Anaheim AngelsArte MorenoBaseballLAOrange CountyNo Matter What Arte Moreno Tells You, OC is NOT LA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLtxpgz_I/AAAAAAAAAXU/J30DnB6Bqy8/s1600-h/oc_register_2005-02-24.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 152px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLtxpgz_I/AAAAAAAAAXU/J30DnB6Bqy8/s400/oc_register_2005-02-24.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060440381097824242" border="0" /></a>I had the opportunity to attend a baseball game in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Chicago</st1:place></st1:city> this past weekend between the White Sox and the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. Even saying that name makes me throw up in my mouth a little. To the game, I wore a bright red T-Shirt with the Angels logo on it proclaiming “We are <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">NOT LA.</st1:address></st1:street>” And this simple phrase, friends, pretty much sums up <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLpBpgz-I/AAAAAAAAAXM/kThf6C46d_U/s1600-h/Arte.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLpBpgz-I/AAAAAAAAAXM/kThf6C46d_U/s400/Arte.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060440299493445602" border="0" /></a>The Angels, in case you were unaware, play their games in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Anaheim</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>. Which is in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Which is in no way, shape or form, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city>. Unfortunately the current owner, Arte Moreno, imparts the same logic as many of our civic officials here in South Florida and figures that naming the team “Los Angeles” will somehow encourage fans living in that city to drive an hour in traffic to his games in an entirely different area. His theory, of course, is to make more money, but what he effectively did was piss off his local fan base. Because there is nothing anyone living in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> hates more than being told they live in LA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLkBpgz9I/AAAAAAAAAXE/6sOY0ru4EZM/s1600-h/LA.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLkBpgz9I/AAAAAAAAAXE/6sOY0ru4EZM/s400/LA.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060440213594099666" border="0" /></a>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tell any life-long OC resident that they are from LA and they may very likely launch into a tirade as I am about to do. People there do not take pride so much in being from <st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype>, but in NOT being from <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city></st1:place>. LA is a cesspool if filth and crime that has riots and truly awful people around every corner. OC is more or less populated by surfers and real-estate agents. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLdhpgz8I/AAAAAAAAAW8/K1SU4Ui2S_I/s1600-h/Irvine.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLdhpgz8I/AAAAAAAAAW8/K1SU4Ui2S_I/s400/Irvine.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060440101924949954" border="0" /></a>If you took all the really shitty things about LA out, the entertainment industry, the non-stop traffic, the racial tension and the poverty, you would have <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Picture perfect weather, beautiful beaches and manageable traffic patterns. Life in Orange County is so perfect our biggest problem when I lived there was the fact that they were renaming the baseball team.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyone who thinks the two are at all alike need only drive on any freeway that crosse<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLXBpgz7I/AAAAAAAAAW0/DUOdBGgB5BU/s1600-h/LAX.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLXBpgz7I/AAAAAAAAAW0/DUOdBGgB5BU/s400/LAX.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060439990255800242" border="0" /></a>s the counties. You can literally tell when you’ve gotten into OC as the ride is smoother and the traffic eases right at Nabisco factory on the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Line</st1:placename></st1:place>. Typically, your blood pressure drops about 30<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLRhpgz6I/AAAAAAAAAWs/58b4wg5DHe4/s1600-h/John+Wayne.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLRhpgz6I/AAAAAAAAAWs/58b4wg5DHe4/s400/John+Wayne.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060439895766519714" border="0" /></a> points as well. Or you can look at the airports. While John Wayne is by far the most hassle-free and simple airport I have encountered in a major city (OC’s population is near 4 million) LAX is a colossal clusterfuck that just emanates stress and confusion. Kind of like comparing MIA to West Palm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I used to travel and people would ask me where I was from, I would tell them <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Coun</st1:placetype></st1:place><st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">ty</st1:placetype></st1:place>. If they were not FOX or MTV Reality fans, they would ask me where that was. I would respond “Between <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">San Diego</st1:place></st1:city> and LA.” Why? Saying San Deigo first made them th<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLLBpgz5I/AAAAAAAAAWk/i9_LF2LV91g/s1600-h/OC.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLLBpgz5I/AAAAAAAAAWk/i9_LF2LV91g/s400/OC.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060439784097370002" border="0" /></a>ink it was closer related to that city than it was to that shithole up north. And that is really the case. Similarly, I made a point of not saying it was a part of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city></st1:place>, as it clearly is not. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So the next time you talk to someone, and they say they are form <st1:city st="on">Laguna Beach</st1:city> or Mission Viejo, <st1:city st="on">Lake Forest</st1:city> or <st1:city st="on">Santa Ana</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on">Huntington Beach</st1:city> or <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Garden Grove</st1:place></st1:city>, do not tell them they are from LA. They are not and it is the equivalent of telling a Korean he is Chinese because he has <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLFhpgz4I/AAAAAAAAAWc/L1lMCSHyqNI/s1600-h/Kristin.jpe"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rlvRX9p1hUQ/RjpLFhpgz4I/AAAAAAAAAWc/L1lMCSHyqNI/s400/Kristin.jpe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060439689608089474" border="0" /></a>slanted eyes. And yes, I know people exist who live in OC and tell you they are from LA. They are not REAL Orange Countians. They are either transplants who have yet to learn the difference or, even worse, that pathetic subset who thinks LA is somehow cooler and better to be from than <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Sad, so sad. Because if the Angels and Kristin Cavalleri couldn’t convince the world that <st1:placename st="on">Orange</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype> is a world away form <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city>, it looks like nobody will.</p>http://whitedade.blogspot.com/2007/05/no-matter-what-arte-moreno-tells-you-oc.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (White Dade)12